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DIVIDING WATERS 




















DIVIDING WATERS 


gy 

I. A. R. WYLIE 

Author of 

THE NATIVE BORN 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 




t) 


Copyright 1911 
The Bobbs-Merrill Company 


If 





PRESS OF 
BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
BOOKB1NOER8 AND PRINTERS 
BROOKLYN, N. Y. 


©CI.A295G22 

>V 


CONTENTS 


BOOK I 

CHAPTER 

I The Mistakes of Providence .... 

II “Wanderlust” 

III An Experiment 

IV Outward Bound 

V Among the Heathen 

VI A Letter Home 

VII A Duet 

VIII The Awakening ....... 

IX Renunciation 

X Youth and the Barrier ..... 

XI Wolff Makes His Debut in Delford > 

XII Nora Forsakes Her Country .... 

BOOK II 

I The New Home 

II And the New Life 

III A Meeting 

IV A Visitor Arrives in Karlsburg . 

V The Cub as Lion 

VI In Which the Rev. John Receives a Shock . 

VII Wolff Sells a Horse and Nora Loses a Friend 

VIII Rising Shadows 

IX Arnold Receives His Explanation 


PAGE 

I 

8 

20 

32 

44 

54 

64 

81 

95 

108 

122 

134 

149 

160 

170 

180 

192 

203 

209 

224 

241 


CONTENTS — Continued 


CHAPTER PACE 

X Nemesis 250 

XI The Fetish 261 

XII War Clouds 276 

XIII Ultimatum 287 

XIV The Code of Honor 305 

XVI The Sea Between ....... 324 

BOOK III 

I Home 345 

II Exiled 35g 

III Revelation 371 

• 385 


IV The Bridge Across 


DIVIDING WATERS 























































» r 

*■ 




BOOK I 






» 



















> • 








/ 


DIVIDING WATERS 


CHAPTER I 


THE MISTAKES OF PROVIDENCE 



‘HE family Ingestre sat in conclave. That they sat 


X together at all at any time other than a meal-time 
was in itself sufficient proof that the subject of their de- 
bate was unusually serious; their faces and attitudes added 
conclusive evidence. 

The Reverend John Ingestre occupied his chair of state 
at the head of the long table. He was a middle-sized man, 
with narrow, sloping shoulders, which were at that particu- 
lar moment drawn up into an uncomfortable hunch. When 
he spoke he pulled at his thin beard and glanced at his 
wife surreptitiously over his spectacles, as though seek- 
ing her advice or support — actions which gave his whole 
person an air of harassed nervousness. 

Mrs. Ingestre did not return her husband’s signals. She 
lay quietly on the sofa by the window, her hand half shad- 
ing her face, and seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. 
Only once during the Rev. John’s long and detailed state- 
ment did she give any sign of having heard. Then she 
shifted her position so that her grave scrutiny rested on 
the two younger members of the family. Perhaps she 


1 


2 


DIVIDING WATERS 


hoped to learn from their expressions what they were in- 
nerly experiencing, and therein no doubt she must have 
been successful, for their positions alone were expressive 
of much. 

The boy — or young man, for he was at that uncertain 
age when boyhood and manhood meet — had his hands 
plunged in his pockets; his long legs were stretched out in 
front of him, his chin rested on his chest. Supreme and 
energiless despondency seemed to be imprinted in the very 
creases of his Norfolk coat. 

The girl had her place at the table. Though she sat 
perfectly still, never turning her eyes from her father’s 
face, there was something in her rigid attitude which sug- 
gested irritation and impatience. Her hands lay in her 
lap ; only a close observer would have seen that they were 

not folded, but clenched, so that the knuckles stood out 

white. 

“So you see, my dear children,” the Rev. John said at 
last, coming to his peroration, “I felt it my duty to lay the 

case before you exactly as it stands. For a long time I 

hoped that it would not' be necessary for me to do so — that 
a merciful Providence would spare me the pain of in- 
flicting upon you so sharp a wound. Well, it has been 
ruled otherwise, and I only pray that you share with me 
my one consolation — the knowledge that it is the will of 
a Higher Power, and therefore all for the best.” 

He stopped and waited. In spite of the catastrophe 
which he had just announced, there was a trace of meek 
satisfaction in his manner, of which he seemed gradually 
to become conscious, for he turned to his wife with a note 
of apology in his thin voice: 

“My dear, I have explained the matter correctly, I hope?” 

“Quite correctly, I should think.” 


THE MISTAKE OF PROVIDENCE 


3 


Mrs. Ingestre’s hand sank from her face. It was a finely 
shaped hand, and whiter, if possible, than the dress she 
wore. Everything about her was beautiful and fragile — 
painfully fragile. The very atmosphere around her seemed 
laden with the perfume of a refined and nobly borne suf- 
fering. 

“It seems to me there is no possible mistake,” said the 
young man, getting up roughly. “We are ruined — that is 
the long and short of the matter.” 

For a moment no one made any attempt to deny his 
angry statement. Then the Rev. John shook his head. 

“You speak too strongly, my dear Miles,” he corrected. 
“We are not what one would call ruined. I have still my 
stipend. There is no idea of — eh — starving, or anything 
of that sort; but the superfluous luxuries must be done 
away with, and — eh — one or two sacrifices must be brought.” 

He coughed, and looked at his daughter. Mrs. Ingestre 
looked at her also, and the pale, painworn face became illu- 
minated with tenderness and pity. 

“Sacrifices,” the Rev. John repeated regretfully. “Such, 
I fear, must be the payment for our misfortunes.” 

Nora Ingestre relaxed from her stiff attitude of self- 
restraint. The expression of her face said clearly enough: 
“The sermon is at an end, and the plate being handed 
around. How much am I expected to put in?” 

“It was of your career I was thinking, my dear Miles,” 
the Rev. John answered. “I am quite aware that your 
whole future depends on your remaining in the Army, 
therefore we have decided that — that sacrifices must be 
brought for you.” 

He hesitated again, and threw another glance at his 
wife’s pale face. 

“Nora, I am sure you see the necessity of what I say?” 


4 DIVIDING WATERS 

His (laughter started, as though he had awakened her 
from a reverie. 

“Yes, I do,” she said, with an abrupt energy. “We must 
all help each other as much as we can. I shall just work 
like a nigger.” 

“Eh— yes,” said her father doubtfully. “I am sure you 
will. Of course, we shall have to dismiss some of the 
servants, and your mother will need — eh — more assistance 
than hitherto — and I know, dear Nora — ” He coughed, 
and left the sentence unfinished. 

Whether it was his manner or her mother’s face which 
aroused her to closer attention, Nora Ingestre herself could 
not have said. She became suddenly aware that all three 
were looking at her, and that she was expected to say some- 
thing. 

“I don’t quite understand,” she said. “It is only natural 
that I should help all I can, only ” 

It was her turn to stop short. She, too, had arisen to 
her feet, and quite unconsciously she drew herself upright 
like a person preparing for attack from some as yet un- 
known quarter. Like her father, she was not above the 
middle height, but she had her mother’s graceful, well- 
proportioned build, which made her seem taller than she 
really was, and added to that a peculiar resolute dignity 
that was all her own. It was, perhaps, to this latter at- 
tribute that she owed the unacknowledged respect in which 
she was held both by her father and brother. For it is a 
set rule that we must admire most what is in direct contrast 
to ourselves; and it had never been in the Rev. John’s power 
either to carry himself erect, or to give himself anything 
but the appearance of a meek and rather nervous man. It 
was owing to this inherent respect that he hesitated at the 
present moment. Perhaps he realized at the bottom of his 


THE MISTAKE OF PROVIDENCE 


5 


heart that it was not an altogether fair proceeding to load 
his mistaken monetary speculations on the shoulders of a 
disinterested Providence, and that his family might have 
other, if secret, views as to the real responsibility. At any 
rate, he was not sufficiently convinced of his own absolute 
innocence to meet his daughter’s grave, questioning eyes 
with either firmness or equanimity. 

“My dear,” he said, “we want you at home.” And there- 
with he considered he had put the case both concisely and 
gently. But Nora continued to look at him, and he grew 
irritated because she did not seem able to understand. 

“Surely you can see that — that there are certain things 
for which we have neither the time nor the money?” he 
said, drumming on the table with his thin fingers. 

A deep wave of color mounted Nora Ingestre’s cheeks. 
She did not speak, however, until it had died away again, 
leaving her unusually pale. 

“You mean — I must give up — everything?” she asked in 
a low voice. 

“If by ‘everything’ you mean your musical studies — yes,” 
her father returned impatiently. The next minute he re- 
lented, and leaning forward, took her passive hand in his. 
“But surely it is not ‘everything,’ ” he said. “Surely your 
home and your people are more to you than even this favor- 
ite pursuit? I know it is hard for you — it is indeed hard 
for us all; but if we kept our promise and sent you to 
London other things would have to pay for it — the dear old 
house, the garden, Miles’ career. You see how it is? You 
know there is nothing for your real good that I would with- 
hold from you if I could help it, dear child.” 

He waited, expecting her to throw herself into his arms 
in generous self-reproach at her own hesitation ; but she 
said nothing, and there was a long, uncomfortable silence. 


6 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“And then time will not hang heavy on your hands,” 
he went on, with forced cheerfulness. “Your mother will 
need you and I shall need you — good little amanuensis that 
you are! Is it not something to you that we all need you 
so much?” 

“Yes,” she said. 

The monosyllable encouraged him, though it would have 
encouraged no one else. 

“And, of course, in between whiles you will be able to 
keep up your music,” he added, patting her hand. 

This time there was not even a monosyllable to reassure 
him. Nora Ingestre stood motionless at her father’s side, 
her eyes fixed straight ahead, her fine, resolute features set, 
and almost expressionless. 

Miles swung impatiently on his heel. 

“I can’t think what you are making all this fuss about,” 
he said. “You ought to be jolly glad that we can keep 
on the old place, and that you have such a decent home. I 
know lots of girls who would give their eyes to be in your 
shoes.” 

“Have I been making a fuss?” 

She spoke quietly, without changing her position, but her 
question seemed to cause Miles fresh annoyance. 

“I call it a fuss to stand there and say nothing,” he said, 
with sound masculine logic. “And, anyhow — what does it 
matter whether you can tinkle a few tunes on the old tin- 
kettle or not?” 

“That is something you do not understand,” she blazed 
out. It was as though he had unwittingly set fire to some 
hidden powder mine in her character. She was breathing 
quickly and brokenly, and every line in her face betrayed 
a painfully repressed feeling which threatened to break 
out into passionate expression. 


THE MISTAKE OF PROVIDENCE 


7 


Mrs. Ingestre rose from her couch. When she stood 
upright she seemed to dominate them all, to command silence 
and respect, by the very dignity of her bearing. 

“I think this has all lasted long enough,” she said. “What 
is done can not be undone. We must face matters as best 
we can. As your father says, it is the will of Providence, 
and as such we must accept it. “Only” — she turned to 
Miles, and from the faintest possible inflection of irony her 
tone deepened to reproof — “there are some things you do not 
understand, dear boy, and which you had bettter leave to 
wiser heads. Perhaps I understand better. At any rate, I 
should like to speak to Nora alone.” 

Thus she virtually dismissed the masculine members of 
the family. Miles shrugged his shoulders, and went out into 
the garden whistling. The Rev. John rose, and gathered up 
the business papers which he had brought in with him. 

“I am sure that your mother will show it is all for the 
best,” he said weakly. 

At the door he turned and looked back over his spectacles. 

“Remember always that we have both tried to impress 
upon you — it is the will of Providence,” he said. “We must 
not kick against the pricks.” 

He then went out, leaving the two women alone. 


CHAPTER II 


‘■‘'WANDERLUST^ 

F OR some minutes mother and daughter did not speak. 

Nora had turned her back, and was gazing out on to 
the pleasant country garden with eyes that saw neither the 
flowers nor the evening shadows which lengthened out over 
the lawn. She was still too profoundly occupied in the 
effort to appear indifferent, to cover over that one slip of 
feeling, to notice what was going on about her. She hated 
herself for having shown what she felt, she hated herself 
for feeling as she did ; but no amount of hatred or self-con- 
demnation would retrieve the one or change the other, and 
when she at last turned, aroused by the prolonged silence, 
the signals of anger and resentment still burned in her cheeks 
and eyes. 

“Oh, I am a wretch,” she cried impetuously. “Dearest, 
don’t look so grave and distressed. It isn’t your fault that 
you have such a disagreeable daughter. There, I ought to 
be a help and comfort, and instead — ” 

“An old woman does not need so much help and comfort 
as a young one,” Mrs. Ingestre interrupted gently. “Just at 
present I am not suffering one-tenth of what you are suf- 
fering. And, dear Nora, don’t treat me like some frail 
old wreck that must be shielded at all costs from the rough 
winds. Don’t stand there and swallow up everything you 
are feeling because you are afraid of hurting me. It will 

8 


WANDERLUST 


9 


only rankle all the worse. I would rather have your full 
confidence, however painful it may be. Come here and sit 
down beside me. Tell me everything you are thinking and 
feeling, honest Injun!” 

The “honest Injun” brought a smile to Nora’s eyes. 
Like everything else that she said or did, Mrs. Ingestre 
stamped the school-boy phrase with an exotic, indefinable 
charm that was all her own. Yet beneath the half-gay 
appeal there lay a note of command, and Nora drew nearer 
awkwardly and hesitatingly, bereft for the moment of her 
youthful assurance and thrust back to the school days which 
at the age of nineteen are not so far away. She took the 
white outstretched hand and stood with bent head, frown- 
ing at the carpet. Suddenly she knelt down and buried her 
face in her mother’s lap. 

“I feel like a trapped rabbit,” she murmured indistinctly. 

A very faint smile touched Mrs. Ingestre’s lips. 

“A trapped rabbit, Nora? And who has trapped you, 
pray?” 

“You have, and you know it. You always do !” 

“Really, dear, it would have to be a very old and short- 
sighted rabbit to allow me to trap it, and you are neither. 
You must explain.” 

Nora lifted her face. She was laughing, but she was 
also very near crying. 

“I mean — that is how you make me feel,” she said. “I 
can defy other people when they want to do any soul-ex- 
ploring on my territory. I just shut my mouth and my 
heart, and leave them out in the cold. But you are dif- 
ferent. You mesmerize me till I not only have to tell you 
what I am feeling, but I positively want to — even though 
it is the most disgraceful, most disreputable feeling pos- 
sible.” 


10 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“And just' now — ” 

“It was a thought.” 

“What sort of a thought?” 

“A dreadful one.” 

“Couldn’t you tell me?” 

“Of course I can — I must — but — ” 

“Well?” 

“Do you want to know exactly?” 

“Word for word.” 

“I was thinking what a duffer father is — was, I mean.” 

A complete silence. Mrs. Ingestre stroked her daugh- 
ter’s hand and stared sightlessly into the deepening shadows. 
The smile had died from her lips. 

“Go on,” she said at last. 

“I don’t think there is anything else. I always think 
that when father talks about Providence and — and that 
sort of thing. I feel sometimes that if Providence took 
human shape and was in the room at the time I should 
wink — I am not sure I don’t wink inside me, anyhow.” 

She waited, and then, as Mrs. Ingestre said nothing, she 
went on disconsolately: 

“I know I am awful, darling. I wonder if other people 
have shocking ideas, too, or whether I am the wicked ex- 
ception?” 

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Ingestre said. “One can’t help 
one’s thoughts, you know.” 

“No, one can’t; can one? The more one sits on them, 
the more uproarious they get. Are you cross?” 

“No.” 

“Do you — ever have thoughts like that?” 

“Nora, I am not feeling in the least like a trapped rabbit, 
if that’s what you mean.” 

Nora laughed outright. Her youth and buoyant spirits 


WANDERLUST 


11 


won the upper hand for the moment, but for no longer. 
The actual subject of their conversation interposed itself 
between her humor and herself. 

“Why did father try and make money in Mexico?” she 
demanded suddenly and sharply. “We were rich enough 
before, and now we are so poor that we have to give up 
everything that makes life worth living, in order to live.” 

“My dear child, do you really think that?” 

“No, I don’t think that. If I thought, I daresay I should 
see that, as the world goes, I am a very lucky girl. But I 
feel — awful ! And the feelings always count most with 
me.” 

Mrs. Ingestre nodded to herself. 

“They count most with all normal people,” she said; 
“and those who govern their lives by their heads are not, as 
a rule, either the happiest or the cleverest. Still, Nora, is it 
such a sacrifice?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is the music so dear to you that it is the only thing 
which makes life worth living?” 

Nora did not answer, and with a firm, gentle hand Mrs. 
Ingestre tilted her daughter’s head backwards, so that she 
could look straight into the overcast gray eyes. A very 
faint smile played about the corners of her own mouth. 

“Nora, you know, a few months ago, when we promised 
to send you up to London to begin your studies, we were 
comparatively rich people. Rich people can afford luxuries, 
and our pet luxury was to imagine that our little girl was a 
genius who was going to show the world great things. We 
meant to give you every chance — we would have seen that 
our ship lacked nothing to make its first passage in public 
waters a success. Well, we are poor now, and the first 
luxury which we must part with is that fond hope. You 


12 


DIVIDING WATERS 


and I must face the fact — you are a sweet musician, not a 
genius.” 

“Mother, you knew that all the time — as well as I did.” 

A pale rose sprang to Mrs. Ingestre’s cheeks. Quite un- 
consciously she avoided her daughter’s challenging eyes. 

“Mother, why did you pretend to think otherwise?” Nora 
went on. “Did you believe me so silly as to imagine myself 
anything more than an amateur? Why, of course I knew. 
I had only to compare myself with others.” 

“And yet you let us think and talk about you as a genius !” 
Mrs. Ingestre interposed. 

Nora nodded defiantly. 

“I was a humbug,” she declared. “I wanted to go to 
London. It seemed the only way.” 

“Wasn’t that a rather disreputable way?” 

“Not more disreputable than yours. I remember, when 
father complained about the useless expense you told him 
it was a sin against Providence not to encourage genius. 
It was then I first made the discovery that when you are 
most serious you are really laughing — at father and me 
and every one.” 

“Nora! Nora! The tone of mild reproof died away. 
Mother and daughter looked each other in the eyes and 
laughed. When she had done laughing, Mrs. Ingestre bent 
down and kissed the girl lightly on the forehead. 

“You pry too deep to be an altogether very respectful 
person,” she said ; “but since you have pryed, I must make 
the best of it and confess. I knew your father would not 
understand my ideas, so I, too, humbugged a little — just 
a very little. I wanted you to go to London, and after- 
ward into the world. It was the only way.” 

“And now this is the end of it all !” 

Nora Ingestre rose and stood by her mother’s side. Her 


WANDERLUST 


13 


voice rang with all the protest and despair of which youth 
is so capable — very real protest and very real despair, 
whole-hearted and intense, as is the way with youth. 

“It wasn’t the music,” she went on. “I loved it, of course, 
but I wanted to see the world and people more than any- 
thing else. I wanted the world so badly, mother. I felt 
like a caged animal that sees the forests and the plains 
through its prison bars. I wanted to get out and be free. 
Oh, you can’t understand — you can’t!” 

Mrs. Ingestre stirred suddenly, as though a wound had 
been touched with rough fingers. 

“I do understand,” she said. But Nora was too young, 
above all, too absorbed in her own griefs, to hear all that 
was hidden in her mother’s words. 

“At any rate, no one else would understand,” she went on. 
“Father wouldn’t, Miles wouldn’t, and the whole village 
wouldn’t. They would all say I was a New Woman, or 
unwomanly, or something — why, I don’t know. I don’t 
care whether I have a vote or not. I can cook and I can 
sew; I love children. All that sort of thing is womanly, 
isn’t it? Isn’t it womanly to want to live, and to know 
what life means? Nobody thinks it strange that Miles, 
though he has no talent for anything except loafing, should 
travel, should live away from home and get to know other 
people. It is all for his development! But I am not to 
develop, it seems. Perhaps development isn’t womanly. 
Perhaps the only right thing for me to do is to look after 
the flowers and worry the cook and bore myself through 
my days with tea parties and tennis parties and occasional 
match-making dances, until somebody asks me to be his 
wife, and I marry him to save myself from turning into a 
vegetable !” 

She stopped, breathless with her fierce torrent of sarcasm 


14 


DIVIDING WATERS 


and bitterness. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands clenched ; 
there were tears in her bright eyes. 

Mrs. Ingestre rose and followed her daughter to the 
window, whither she had wandered in her restless energy. 

“How long have you been thinking all this, Nora?” she 
asked. 

“Ever since I left school and Miles went to Sandhurst. 
Until then it all seemed fair enough. He had been to 
school and I had been to school. But after that, just when 
I was beginning to learn because I loved it, just when I was 
beginning to see things and understand them — then I was 
brought home — here — and there was an end to it.” 

Mrs. Ingestre put her arm about her daughter’s shoulders. 

“And then you remembered that you were musical?” she 
said. 

“And you discovered that I was a genius !” came the retort. 

Mrs. Ingestre laughed quietly. 

“I see that we must not throw stones at each other, or our 
glass houses will suffer,” she said. “And, after all, it does 
not matter why either of us wanted it, or how we managed. 
You were to go to London and see a little of the world — ” 

“Don’t talk about it, mother !” 

“Only a little, perhaps, but more than your whole future 
promises you now, poor child. Now you will have to stop 
here and vegetate.” 

Nora turned and clasped her mother in a tumultuous 
embrace. 

“What a brute I must seem !” she exclaimed. “And yet I 
do love you, dearest. I believe I love you more than most 
daughters do their mothers, and I don’t believe that I am 
really more selfish — only, I can’t hide what I feel, and I 
feel such a lot. Are you hurt?” 

Mrs. Ingestre shook her head. 


WANDERLUST 


15 


“It is an old woman’s privilege to pretend that she has 
a reason to feel bitter,” she said, “but I am not in the least 
bittter, because, you see, I understand. I understood even 
before you said anything, and so I made up my mind that 
you should be given an alternative — ” 

“An alternative, mother?” 

“ — To staying here; and Captain Arnold.” 

A sudden silence fell on both. Mrs. Ingestre, under cover 
of the twilight, observed her daughter sharply. She saw 
that though Nora’s face had grown grave it showed no 
sign of any profound feeling, and she took the quiet, un- 
disturbed color as an answer to a question which even she 
had never ventured to ask. 

“And so,” she went on after a moment, “I wrote to my 
old friend, Fraulein Muller, about you, and she answered 
two or three days ago, and said she knew of an excellent 
position as companion to a lady in Karlsburg. She thought 
it would suit you admirably. You would be treated as one 
of the family, and have plenty of time to go on with your 
own studies. Would you like it?” 

The proposal came so suddenly, and yet in such a matter- 
of-fact tone, that Nora caught her breath and looked up at 
her mother in blank surprise. 

“You mean,” she began slowly, “that I should go and live 
in a German family?” 

“Yes.” 

“With a lot of fat, greasy, gobbling Germans?” 

“Do you know any Germans?” 

“No — at least there was our German music master at 
school, and he was fat and greasy, and I am sure he must 
have gobbled. He must have done. They all do.” 

“You used to say he played like an angel,” Mrs. Ingestre 
interposed. 


16 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“So he did. But I hated him all the same. I hate all 
Germans.” 

Her tone rang out with a sort of school-girl obstinacy. 
Her attitude, with lifted chin and straight shoulders, was 
eloquent with national arrogance and scorn. 

Mrs. Ingestre turned away. 

“I shall write to Fraulein Muller and tell her to make 
all arrangements,” she said. “I think, if everything proves 
suitable, that you had better go to Karlsburg.” 

“Mother! You haven’t even given me the choice !” 

“I do not think it wise to do so,” Mrs. Ingestre answered 
gravely. “You are right, Nora; you must see the world. 
You must go away from here, not just for the sake of the 
music, the change, and excitement, but in order that your 
heart may grow wider, in order to learn to love the good 
that lies outside your own little sphere. There are great 
things, great people outside Delford, Nora — yes, and out- 
side England. You must learn to know them.” 

The girl’s face flushed crimson. 

“At the bottom we all despise foreigners and foreign 
■ways,” she said in self-defense. “Father does, Miles does, 
the Squire does. And they have all traveled; they have 
seen for themselves.” 

“They have traveled with their eyes open and their hearts 
closed,” Mrs. Ingestre answered. 

“How do you know, mother? You have never been out 
of England.” 

Mrs. Ingestre shook her head. A rather melancholy smile 
passed over her wan features. 

“No,” she said; “I have never been out of England, but 
I have been often, very often, ill, and during the long 
hours I have traveled great distances, and I have begun to 
think that God cannot surely have reserved all the virtues 


WANDERLUST 


17 


for us English. I fancy even the poor benighted Germans 
must have their share of heaven.” 

Nora laughed outright. 

“I expect' they have, now I come to think of it,” she 
admitted gaily. “Mother, you are a much better Christian 
than father, though you won’t call every one ‘dearly be- 
loved,’ and you are yards better than I am. I can’t help 
it — I despise all foreigners, especially — ” 

She stopped abruptly, and Mrs. Ingestre smiled. 

“Still, you will try Karlsburg. It will be an experience 
for you, and you will hear good music. The family is a 
very old one, and perhaps the members, being of noble 
birth, may gobble less than the others.” 

“All Germans are of noble birth,” Nora observed, scorn- 
fully. 

“So much the better for them,” Mrs. Ingestre returned. 
“Are you willing to try? You know the alternative.” 

“May I think it over, mother?” 

“Yes, you may think over it, if you like. It is, after all, 
only a question of your willingness.” 

“That means you have made up your mind?” 

“Yes.” 

Mrs. Ingestre saw the strong young face set into lines 
of defiance. She went back to the sofa and lay down with 
a sigh. 

“Little Nora,” she said, almost under her breath, “you 
know it is not my custom to preach. You won’t think, 
therefore, that I am just ‘talking’ when I tell you; years 
ago I would have given anything — anything — to have had 
this chance.” 

For the first time in their long interview the girl stopped 
listening to the self-pitying confusion of her thoughts. The 
elder woman’s voice had penetrated her youthful egotism, 


18 


DIVIDING WATERS 


and she turned with that curious tugging at the heart which! 
we experience when w T e have unexpectedly heard a smothered 
cry of pain break from lips usually composed in lines of 
peace and apparent content. 

“Mother!” Nora exclaimed. The room was now in al- 
most complete shadow. She came closer and bent over the 
quiet face. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of 
roses, and it flashed through Nora’s mind as she stood there 
that her mother was like a rose — pale and faded, but still 
beautiful, still breathing a wonderful perfume of purity 
and sweetness. 

“Mother!” she repeated, strangely awe-struck. 

Mrs. Ingestre opened her eyes and smiled. 

“I am very tired,” she said. “I think I could sleep a 
little. Go and think it over. I want you to be willing.” 

Nora bent and kissed her. 

“If you wish it, I am willing,” she said with impulsive, 
whole-hearted surrender. She crept out on tiptoe, and for 
a few minutes all was quiet in the great shadowy room. 
Then the door opened again, and the Rev. John entered 
and peered round short-sightedly. He saw that his wife’s 
eyes were closed, and, since it is not kind to waken a weary 
invalid, he merely knocked some books off the table and 
coughed. Truth to tell, it annoyed him that his wife should 
have chosen that identical moment to rest. He wanted to 
talk to her, but since in spite of all his indirect efforts she 
remained quiet, he went out again, a disconsolate victim of 
his own gentle consideration. 

But Mrs. Ingestre had not been asleep. Her eyes were 
shut, but the eyes of her mental vision were open. They 
were watching sunlit panoramas of long rivers with moun- 
tain banks and frowning ruins, glorious, heaven-inspiring 
cathedral spires and great cities. The ears of her imagi- 


WANDERLUST 


19 


nation had not heard the Rev. John’s clumsy movements. 
They were listening to the song of the oceans, the con- 
fusion of a strange tongue, the rich crescendo of a wonder- 
ful music. 

Mrs. Ingestre had left the room and the vicarage and the 
village far behind, and was traveling swiftly through a 
world which she had never seen and — since for her life was 
near its close — would never see. And as she traveled, the 
same thought repeated itself to her with stern persistency : 

“Whatever it costs you, she must go. You must not, dare 
not, keep her.” 


CHAPTER III 


AN EXPERIMENT 

B REAKFAST with the Ingestres was a movable and 
unsociable feast. The various members of the family 
came down when it suited them, the only punishment being 
the inevitable one of cold eggs and bitter tea, and con- 
versation was restricted to the barest necessities. The Rev. 
John was usually engrossed in parochial letters, Mrs. In- 
gestre was never present at all, and Miles only at such a 
time when it pleased him. Thus Nora, choosing on the 
morning following the momentous interview to be an early 
riser, found little difficulty in making her escape. The Rev. 
John was more absorbed than usual in his post, since it con- 
tained not only lettters dealing with his cure of souls, but 
also some disagreeable business facts which he swallowed 
with his tea in melancholy gulps. 

Nora kissed him lightly on the high forehead as she ran 
toward the open French window. Rather to her surprise, 
the customary caress seemed to arouse her father from his 
reflections. He looked up and blinked, like a man who is 
trying to remember some important matter. 

“My dear,” he said, before Nora had reached the lawn, 
“is it really true that you want to go abroad? Your mother 
was talking to me about it last night.” 

“We were thinking about it,” Nora admitted, fidgeting 
nervously with the blind-cord. “Mother said she thought 
it would be good for me.” 


20 


AN EXPERIMENT 


21 


“But, my dear child, what shall we do without you?” 
her father complained. 

Nora made an almost imperceptible movement of im- 
patience. She knew of what her father was thinking, and it 
did not move her to any great degree of sympathy. 

“You will manage all right,” she said. “Mr. Clerk will 
help you with your letters.” And then, to cut the conversa- 
tion short, she went out into the garden and along the gravel 
pathway toward the road. 

The sun shone gloriously. All the charm of an English 
summer morning lay in the air, and Nora drew in great 
breaths with a joyous, unconscious triumph in her own fresh 
youth and health. The garden was the one place in the 
village which she really loved. The ugly, modern red-brick 
church, the straggling “square,” with its peppermint bull’s- 
eye monument to some past “glorious victory,” in which the 
inhabitants of Delford were dimly supposed to have had 
their honorable share, the stuffy cottages, interspersed here 
and there by an ivy-overgrown residence of some big-wig 
of the neighborhood — these features were unaccountably 
connected in Nora’s mind with her father’s sermons, the 
drone of the organ, and the dull piety of Sundays. But 
the garden was all her mother’s. Nora believed that within 
its peaceful limits the forgotten and despised fairies of 
ancient lore took refuge from the matter-of-fact bigots 
who formed Delford’s most respectable community. She 
had even christened a certain rose corner the “Fairy Castle,” 
and it amused her riotous young fancy to imagine an in- 
dignant and horrified Queen Mab scampering across the 
lawn in disorganized flight, before the approach of the 
enemy in the form of Mrs. Clerk, the curate’s wife, or Mrs. 
Chester of the Manor. The garden was, as it were, Mrs. 
Ingestre’s self-created Eden in the drab-colored land of the 


22 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Philistines, and even the Rev. John was an intruder and 
disturber of its poetic peace. Nora felt all this, and in a 
dim, unformed way understood why her mother’s roses 
were different to the roses in other and richer gardens, why 
the very atmosphere had its own peculiar perfume, the 
silence its own peculiar mystery. She felt that her mother 
had translated herself into the flowers, and that the depths 
of her quiet, unfathomable heart were revealed in their 
beauty and sweetness. She felt that if she could have read 
their language, the very daisies on the lawn would have 
lifted the veil which hung between her and the woman who 
seemed to her the most perfect on earth. For in spite of 
their close and tender relationship, Mrs. Ingestre’s inner 
life was for her daughter a sort of Holy of Holies, into 
which no human being had ever ventured. 

Thus, once beyond the reach of her father’s voice, Nora 
lingered willingly between the rose beds, making mental 
comments on the progress of the various favorites and for 
the moment forgetting the matter which was weighing 
heavily on her mind. At the gate opening out on to the 
road, however, she pulled herself sharply together, with a 
sudden gravity on her young face. Either the church! 
steeple visible above the trees, or the sight of an inquisitive 
face peering through the blinds of the house opposite, re- 
minded her that the frontier of Eden was reached, and that 
the dull atmosphere of respectability was about to encom- 
pass her. She went quickly through the village. Most of 
the villagers touched their caps as she passed, and Mrs. 
Clerk, early bird of charity that she was, attempted to way- 
lay her, to discuss the desirability of procuring parish 
relief for bedridden old Jones, and, incidentally, of course, 
to discover how far the pleasantly lugubrious reports re- 
specting the Ingestres’ disabled fortunes were founded on 


AN EXPERIMENT 


23 


fact. Nora, however, avoided her enemy with the as- 
sistance of an absent-minded smile and increased speed, 
and managed to reach her destination without further in- 
terruption. 

Her destination was a stile which led out on to a narrow 
pathway over the fields. She was fond of the spot, partly 
because if you turned your back to the east it was quite 
possible to forget that such things as Delford or the church 
or the peppermint bull’s-eye monument existed, partly be- 
cause westward the limitless stretch of undulating fields 
seemed to suggest freedom and the great world beyond, of 
which Nora thought so much. On this particular morning 
it was not the view which attracted her, as her rather unusual 
conduct testified. She arranged her ruffled brown hair, 
stooped and tightened a shoelace, undid the second shoelace 
and retied it with methodical precision. Then some one 
said “Good morning, Nora,” and she sprang upright with 
her cheeks red with surprise or exertion, or anything else 
the beholder chose to suppose. 

“Good morning, Robert,” she said. 

The new-comer took the friendly outstretched hand. 

“I was coming to pay a disgracefully early morning call,” 
he said. “I am awfully glad we have met.” 

“I knew you would come over the fields this way, she 
said. “I came because I wanted to see you.” 

He flushed crimson with pleasure. 

“That was decent of you, Nora. You are not always so 
kind.” 

“This is an exceptional occasion,” she answered gravely. 

She perched herself on the stile and sat there gazing 
thoughtfully in front of her. In that moment she made a 
sweet and pleasing picture of English girlhood. The sun- 
light played through the trees on to her hair, picking out 


24 


DIVIDING WATERS 


the shining red-gold threads, and touching with warmer 
glow the softly tinted skin. The clean-cut, patrician fea- 
tures, dark-arched eyebrows, and proud, rather full lips 
seemed to contrast strangely with the extreme simplicity 
of her flowered muslin frock. And indeed she came of an- 
other race of women than that of which Delford and its 
inhabitants were accustomed — something finer, more deli- 
cate, more keenly tempered. It was almost impossible to 
think of her as the Rev. John’s daughter — quite impossible 
as Miles Ingestre’s sister. One could only understand the 
small, aristocratic features when one remembered that Mrs. 
Ingestre was her mother. Captain Arnold remembered the 
fact keenly that moment. 

“I declare you are Mrs. Ingestre’s miniature!” he ex- 
claimed. “This morning, one would positively think she 
had been made twenty years younger, and perched up there 
as a surprise-packet.” 

Nora turned on him with a pleased smile. 

“This is a nice compliment,” she said; “but I have no 
time for such things just now. Any moment Mrs. Clerk 
might scurry round the corner, and then my reputation 
would be gone for ever. She would probably tell every one 
that I had come out to meet you on purpose.” 

“Which is true, by the way, isn’t it?” he inquired, smiling. 

“Yes, quite true; only my reason is respectable — not the 
sort of reason that Mrs. Clerk would put down to my 
credit.” 

He came closer and, leaning his elbows on the cross-bars 
of the stile, looked up into her face. 

“I hope it is a nice reason,” he said. 

“No,” she answered, “it is a serious reason, and not in 
the least nice. I expect you have already heard something 
about it, haven’t you?” 


AN EXPERIMENT 


25 


He hesitated. 

“Of course — I have heard rumors,” he said. “As a rule, 
I ignore such things, but I could not altogether ignore this ; 
it concerned you and yours too closely.” 

“Besides, it is true,” she added. 

“True, Nora?” 

“Yes, quite true. We are ruined.” 

“My dear girl !” 

“At least, comparatively ruined,” she corrected. 

For a moment he was silent, apparently intent on the 
study of his own strong square hands linked together in front 
of him. 

“How did it happen?” he asked at last. 

“I don’t know,” she answered impatiently. “Father 
bought some shares that aren’t any good. I suppose he 
wanted to make money.” Her tone was unconsciously 
scornful. 

“We all want to do that,” Arnold observed in defense. 

The strongly arched eyebrows went up a degree. 

“At any rate,” she said, “it is frightfully rough on 
mother. Her life was hard enough before — what with ill- 
health and that sort of thing. Now it will be ten times 
worse.” She clenched her hands in a sudden passionate 
protest. “I can’t help it,” she went on, “it seems to me all 
wrong. She is the best, the cleverest woman I have ever 
met. She ought to be the wife of a genius or a great, good 
man — not father’s wife. Father ought to have married 
Mrs. Clerk. Why did she marry him? It is wicked, but 
it is the thought which comes into my mind every time I 
see them together. And now, when I think that she will 
have to scrape and save as well I — ” She stopped short 
and looked at her companion defiantly. “I suppose you 
are very shocked,” she said. “That comes of always feeling 


26 


DIVIDING WATERS 


as though you were one of the family. I have to say just 
what is passing in my mind.” 

“I am glad you have so much confidence in me,” Arnold 
answered seriously. “All the same, I do not think that you 
are just to your father. He is a thoroughly good man. 
Many people would think Mrs. Ingestre very lucky.” 

“Perhaps they do think so,” Nora said, with indifference. 
“That is because no one about here is capable of under- 
standing her. In any case, it’s no good talking about it. 
This latest trouble is quite enough.” 

“I suppose Miles will be able to stay in the Army?” 
Arnold asked. 

“Oh, yes, that’s settled.” 

“What about your studies? They will have to be given 
up, of course?” 

“Why ‘of course’ ?” she flashed out. 

“Because there won’t be enough money for them,” he 
explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “For my part,” he 
went on, “I shall be glad. I dreaded the thought of com- 
ing home on leave and finding you gone. It would have 
been sickening.” 

“It will be still more ‘sickening’ now,” she said, rather 
revengefully. “I am going away for a long time, and to a 
place a long way off.” 

“Nora! In Heaven’s name where and why?” 

She laughed at his astonished, troubled face. 

“To Karlsburg, in Germany — as a companion.” 

“To Germany! Why do you want to go there?” 

“Because I do not want to vegetate here.” 

“Nora, you will hate it. You will be ill with home- 
sickness. You don’t know what it will be like. It is not as 
though you will be among your own country-people. You 
will hate their manners, their customs, their ways, and they 


AN EXPERIMENT 


27 


will treat you like a servant. Little Nora, I can’t bear the 
thought of it.” 

He spoke earnestly, almost incoherently. 

Nora shook her head. 

“There is no other alternative,” she said. 

“There is one other, Nora. Will you be my wife?” 

He had taken her hand, and she did not attempt to draw 
it back. Nor had she changed color. Her clear eyes 
studied his thin, rather gaunt face, and passed on with frank 
criticism to his tall figure, loosely built and rather stooping, 
in the gray Norfolk suit. 

“Nora,” he said sternly, “I have asked you a question. 
You do not need to look at me like that. I am not different 
to what I usually am.” 

“But I am looking at you in a different light,” she said. 

He seemed to think that she was laughing at him, or 
that she had not taken him seriously. A deep flush mounted 
his sunburnt cheeks. 

“Nora, I am very much in earnest,” he said, his grasp 
on her hand tightening. “Though you are a child you 
must have felt long ago that I cared for you as something 
more than my little comrade. I love you, and I have loved 
you a long time. Will you be my wife?” 

She shook her head gravely and regretfully. 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I do not love you.” 

“Are you sure? How can you tell? You know nothing 
of love.” 

“No,” she agreed. “That is the very reason I will not 
marry you.” 

He let her hand go and stood looking at her with his lips 
tightly compressed, as though on a storm of protest. 


28 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Would you mind if I was quite honest?” she went on. 
“I would rather tell you everything, even if it makes you 
think me bad and heartless.” 

“I shall never think that of you,” he said painfully. 

“Well, then, I did know you cared for me,” she continued. 
“I was always ashamed of myself for knowing. It seemed 
conceited of me to imagine that a grown-up man should 
want such a child as I am — still, I couldn’t help it. I felt 
it. It seems one does feel that sort of thing. It is like 
electricity in the air. Anyhow, it did not worry me very 
much. I made up my mind that one of these days I would 
marry you. It seemed so probable and natural that I should. 
We had known each other since I was a baby and you a 
school-boy; our families were connected; we lived in the 
same neighborhood ; we saw each other at regular intervals ; 
we never quarreled — or hardly ever; we knew each other’s 
faults better than most people do who marry. Everything 
seemed to point in the same direction. But I was such a 
school-girl. I felt that there was heaps of time for me 
to grow to love you — or perhaps find out that I loved you 
already. You see, I wasn’t sure. I liked to be with you; 
but then, I like to be with any one who is jolly and amus- 
ing, so that wasn’t a sure test. Yesterday I knew that there 
was no time left me. I guessed that I should have to de- 
cide between you and Karlsburg. It sounds horrid, but it 
is the truth. And I could not decide — I simply could not. 
Then I thought — perhaps if you asked me, perhaps if you 
told me about your love, it would awaken some sort of an 
answer in me — I should feel some sort of signal such as I 
should imagine a woman would feel if the being with whom 
she is destined to spend her life, and perhaps more, stood 
at her side and held her hand. So I came out here, so that 
you would ask me to be your wife. Are you angry?” 


AN EXPERIMENT 


29 


He shook his head, frowning straight before him. 

“No.” 

“It may sound heartless,” she went on; “I did not mean 
it to be. I thought it would be better if everything was 
spoken out clearly between us. I knew you loved me, and 
I cared for you — I cared for you enough to be glad if I 
found I loved you. For my own sake I should have been 
glad. I know my life would be safe in your hands — that 
you are all an English gentleman need be, but — ” 

“Now comes the ‘but,’ ” he said, with bitterness. 

“It is no good,” she said. “I can’t pretend, can I? When 
you took my hand, when you spoke, I felt nothing — abso- 
lutely nothing, or, perhaps, only a little more critical than 
usual. I noticed, for instance, that you stoop. It had 
never struck s me before. I tell you that because it shows 
you just how I feel.” 

“Thank you,” he said. 

She put her hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t be angry,” she pleaded. “I do care for you.” 

“Then, if you care for me, couldn’t you give me a chance 
— won’t you trust yourself to me, Nora? Love will come 
little by little.” 

He had taken her hand again, and she felt that he 
trembled with restrained feeling. 

“I have an idea that love never comes little by little,” 
she said. 

They were a long time silent. Arnold had buried his face 
on his arms on the cross-bars. Presently he looked up, 
and met her sorrowful gaze with pale composure. 

“So it is to be Karlsburg?” he asked. 

“Yes, I think so.” 

“Nora, I shan’t give up hope.” 

“It wouldn’t be fair of me to say ‘don’t.’ ” 


30 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Still, when you come back?” 

“I can’t promise anything,” she said, but her eyes were 
full of pity and kindness. “I am so sorry, Robert.” 

“That’s all right, dear. You can’t help it.” He pressed 
her hand a last time. “I won’t come on now. You under- 
stand — I would rather be alone. Good-by.” 

“Good-by.” 

She watched him till he was out of sight. A tear rolled 

down her cheek. She rubbed it quickly and impatiently 

away. Then she sprang down and went home. She felt 

shaken and vaguely regretful, and was filled with the one 

desire to be with her mother. 

* 

Mrs. Ingestre was in the garden when Nora reached the 
vicarage. She was looking paler than usual, but she greeted 
her daughter with the customary grave, affectionate smile. 

“You are out early to-day,” she said. 

Nora came and slipped her arm through her mother’s. 

“I have something serious to tell you,” she said. “Robert 
has asked me to be his wife.” 

She spoke quickly, breathlessly, as though disburdening 
her heart of an uncomfortable load. Mrs. Ingestre said 
nothing, but waited quietly for what was to come. She 
held a bunch of roses, and if Nora had been less self- 
absorbed, she would have seen that the white hand trembled. 

“I wanted him to propose to me,” Nora went on with her 
confession. “I wanted to find out if I cared — I wanted to 
care, but — I don’t — not enough. So I said ‘No.’ I am 
glad it is over.” 

Mrs. Ingestre pressed the arm resting on her own. 

“And I am glad that you have said ‘no,’ ” she said. “I 
should always have been afraid if it had been ‘yes’ that 
Karlsburg and vegetation had given the casting vote. It 
is dangerous to treat marriage as an escape loop-hole. 
Sometimes it means the tragedy of a lifetime.” 


AN EXPERIMENT 


31 


They talked of other things, as people do who have 
touched on a subject too near the heart’s innermost and 
untrodden places, but Mrs. Ingestre had unconsciously lifted 
a corner of the veil. The words “a tragedy of a lifetime” 
remained ineffaceable, and, though they had been untouched 
with self-pity or bitterness, Nora believed she understood. 

From that moment she saw in her mother’s face, words 
and acts a new meaning — the revelation of a harsh pun- 
ishment nobly and patiently accepted. 


CHAPTER IV 


OUTWARD BOUND 


FTER the final decision, events moved swiftly in Nora 



l\. Ingestre’s life. It was almost as though Mrs. In- 
gestre was afraid delay might develop imperceptibly into a 
gradual surrender to the protests of her husband and the 
scoffing criticisms of her son. The former treated Nora’s 
journey as a sort of soul-contaminating emigration into the 
land of the Moabites — a matter full of spiritual danger 
for her, and, incidentally, of annoyance for him. During 
the six weeks that passed in correspondence between Del- 
ford and Karlsburg and in busy preparations, he varied 
the table conversation with anxious appeals to a watchful, 
if occasionally inexplicable Providence on behalf of his 
dearest child and a fretful review of his own crippled con- 
dition without her assistance. 

“God forbid that I should criticize my fellow-creatures,” 
was his usual introductory sentence, “but foreigners are 
not as we. They have ways and customs which I cannot 
believe are well-pleasing in His sight. Do not, my child, 
be led astray by the creeping influence of example; do not 
surrender the proud and glorious tenets of your country 
because you see many, less fortunate, following other paths 
than those you have been taught to tread. They may seem 
fair, but remember the end is not here. Be careful that a 
light and frivolous conception of a terrible God does not 


32 


OUTWARD BOUND 


33 


taint your blood. I shall think of you always, dear child, 
but most of all on Sundays, in our beloved church, when I 
shall pray that you, too, are joining in the universal praise 
in some suitable place of worship.” 

After which he was wont to remark that his sermon was 
not yet copied out, and on Nora having offered to perform 
the task, only too thankful that her soul’s condition should 
cease to be made the subject for an after-dinner’s conversa- 
tion, he would draw her to him and kiss her. 

“What shall I do without my right hand?” he usually 
added, with a grave and melancholy shake of the head. 

It was then Miles’ turn to take up the ball and keep it 
rolling after his own methods and ideas. References to 
fat Germans and to people who chose to associate with that 
sort of foreign bounder rather than stay at home with decent 
English people were plentiful, and became tiresome even 
in their variations. But alike to her brother’s pungent sar- 
casm and her father’s periods Nora bore the same deter- 
mined front. She was on her mother’s side, blindly and 
devotedly, and in spite of the fact that' at the bottom of 
her heart she shared the prejudices of the masculine element 
in her family. She had the firm conviction that her mother 
was right, and felt, moreover, that anything — even Karls- 
burg — was better than the dreary Puritan monotony of her 
present life. 

j As for Mrs. Ingestre, she said little, but went on quietly 
with the necessary arrangements and ignored the con- 
stant, if indirect, attacks of her husband and son. Neither 
ventured to criticize her plans to her face. Miles lived in a 
wholesome shamefaced awe of his mother’s dignity and 
keener insight into his own weaknesses ; the Rev. J ohn had 
his private reasons for caution. He had, in fact, waged one 
battle royal with his wife, and had been momentarily 


34 


DIVIDING WATERS 


forced to realize that for twenty-five years he had been 
living with a master who had acted willingly as his slave. 
Not that the awakening was more than momentary. When 
he first recovered from the shock of finding himself con- 
fronted by an iron wall of opposition, he had dozed back 
into the old delusion that he was sent with a divine mission 
to be the guide and support to a frail and helpless woman. 
But there were a few words uttered in the course of a 
short and painful interview which the Rev. John could not 
forget. They rankled in his mind as the proof of his in- 
justice, ingratitude and perversity of the best of women. 

“We look at things from a different standpoint,” Mrs. 
Ingestre had said wearily. “You regard the world and all 
that it has to offer in beauty and happiness as something 
to be hated and avoided. You do hate the world. You 
boast of the fact. I am different. I believe that I was put 
into the world to enjoy it to the uttermost power of my 
capability, that every day in which I had not seen or done 
something new or experienced some fresh wonder was a 
day wasted. I believed all this in spite of my home and up- 
bringing. I simply waited for the time when I should be 
allowed to live as I understood living. I married you — 
and then too late I saw that your ideas and mine clashed. 
It was a mistake, John, but in all justice you must admit 
it was a mistake which you have never had to feel. I have 
done my best to smother my wishes and instincts because I 
realized that it was not your fault that I had seen more in 
you than was really there. I have stood by you loyally — 
I felt it was my duty to do so even at the cost of my own 
individuality. I had made a mistake. But it was a mistake 
none the less, John, and it is one for which Nora shall not 
suffer. My responsibility to her is greater than it is to you. 
She is my daughter. She shall live as her character requires 


OUTWARD BOUND 


35 


— as my character required. She shall not be stunted and 
dwarfed in her growth. This is the first time I have ever 
opposed you. I do so because I must.” 

And, strangely enough, the Rev. John had found nothing 
to say. He prayed very earnestly for his wife against the 
hydra-headed monster of worldliness and vanity which he 
firmly believed had taken hold upon her soul, but from 
that moment his protest confined itself to an increased 
gravity in her presence and the indirect reproach of his 
after-dinner orations. 

Thus time slipped past, and almost before she knew it 
the day of departure dawned for Nora. In the fresh autumnal 
air and bright sunshine she forgot the pangs of the previous 
night, when she had wept a few tears of regret and vague 
remorse. In the darkness she had reproached herself to 
the point of believing that to desert her father and the copy- 
ing of his sermons was a piece of unfilial selfishness. Even * 
Robert Arnold appeared to her in a new light — that light 
which our “good-night” thoughts, first cousins to “last” 
thoughts, cast about those dear to us. He seemed very dear 
to her at midnight. A dozen episodes, grave and gay, in 
their common life recurred to her, also illuminated by the 
same tender regret. A year’s parting from him caused her 
almost intolerable heartache, the more so because she had 
repulsed him and the love after which she began to hunger. 
“If he will only wait, I am sure I shall grow to love him,” 
she confided to her damp pillow, more than half convinced 
that the love had come already, startled to life by the fear 
of loss and separation. 

But the morning sunshine is a spritely, cold-hearted magi- 
cian. As the shaky old four-wheeled cab, glorified in the 
village by the name of “the brougham,” rolled over the 
uneven cobbles, she found herself nodding a cheerful, almost 


36 


DIVIDING WATERS 


triumphant, farewell to the church and the monument. 
They were in her eyes the symbols of a life she was leaving 
behind her, like the gates of a not intolerable prison. She 
was quite sorry that Mrs. Clerk failed to be on her usual 
watchful guard at the window. Certainly, if the village 
was a sort of prison, Mrs. Clerk was its spiritual gaoler, 
and Nora would have dearly loved to flourish her dawning 
freedom in the disapproving face of her natural enemy. 
But Mrs. Clerk was nowhere to be seen, and Nora’s flashing 
glance encountered only her mother’s grave, thoughtful 
eyes. 

Against all advice, Mrs. Ingestre had determined to ac- 
company her daughter up to London. Perhaps she feared 
her husband’s last exhortations, perhaps she was urged by 
a secret heart-hunger. Yet her whole face brightened with 
warm sympathy as she read in Nora’s smile and heightened 
color the proud, bold joy of youth plunging for the first 
time into the full tide of life. 

“You are glad to go?” she asked in a low voice that was 
without the faintest tone of reproach. 

Nora nodded. 

“I am excited,” she said. “I feel like a pioneer setting 
out on the discovery of new worlds. And so I am. What 
(does it matter that millions of people have been where I am 
going? I have never been before. It is all new to me” 

Her father sighed in pained disapproval. 

“Let us hope that your adventures in foreign lands will 
not cost you too dear, Nora,” he said. “May they bring 
you back to your home contented and grateful for its blessed 
peace.” 

Mrs. Ingestre leaned forward and laid her hand on Nora’s. 
The movement might have been made in confirmation of her 
husband’s words — it might also have had another meaning. 


OUTWARD BOUND 


37 


It might have meant, taken in conjunction with the almost 
youthful flash in the dark eyes: “Be of good cheer! The 
world and life are before you. Grasp both in spite of every 
one. They are worth fighting for !” 

And Nora’s clasp responded. Her spirits were at their 
highest pitch. She was afraid of nothing; the long journey, 
the foreign country, and its despised inhabitants had no 
terrors for her. Youth and morning sunshine swept her 
forward on a wave of impetuous joy. She even found it in 
her heart to be thankful for the “blows of Providence,” 
though for other reasons than those of her piously resigned 
parent. “After all, now I shall be able to fight my own 
battles,” was her proud thought. 

The day in London cast the first shadow over her courage. 
They arrived in the metropolis at - midday, and as the boat- 
train left at eight o’clock in the evening there was a whole 
afternoon to be spent wandering about the busy streets — a 
pleasant occupation if you understand how to go about it. 
But this was one thing that the Rev. John did not under- 
stand. He belonged to the class of people for whom London 
is a great black, smutty monster, replete with all the vices 
and crimes of Babylon, and his passage through its heart was 
a veritable penance. His sincerely Puritan temperament — 
for, to do him justice, he was but half a hypocrite and only 
that much unconsciously, like the rest of us — found “sermons 
in stones,” and in everything else, from the wicked luxury of 
the lady lounging in her victoria to the ragged profligacy of 
the beggar. Sermons he delivered, therefore, and Nora, 
trudging wearily at his side, with all her eyes on the ignored 
shop windows, listened in sullen defiance. She loved Lon- 
don with the almost passionate love which is given to no 
other city in the world. She loved the fogs, its dirt, its stern, 
relentless bustle; she felt a sort of vague kinship with its 


38 


DIVIDING WATERS 


vagabonds, its grandees, its very policemen, and her father’s 
criticisms goaded her to distraction. Yet once, as they 
dragged themselves into an A.B.C. for tea, she saw her 
mother’s face, and her anger died down, yielding to the first 
cold touch of homesickness. There was something written on 
the pale, worn face which she could not read but which 
filled her with vague pain. Visited by what unshed tears of 
regret, longing, and unavailing remorse had those quiet 
eyes watched the tide of life flow past them? Nora did not 
know. In an instinctive, almost childish, sympathy she 
slipped her hand into Mrs. Ingestre’s. 

“Dear, dear mother !” she said, “I wish I could make you 
happy — really happy.” 

The Rev. John had gone to order the buns and tea which 
were to form the pieces de resistance of their evening meal. 
Mrs. Ingestre looked down into the young, earnest face. 
Her own face relaxed an instant from its own usual serenity. 
It was as though a sudden gust of wind had passed over a 
lake, ruffling its smooth, peaceful surface. 

“Be happy,” she said almost imperatively. “Whatever 
else happens, remember that you have the right to happiness. 
And to be happy you must open your heart wide — you must 
welcome all that is good, even if it is not the good you have 
been taught to know. Don’t let Delford or — or even us 
make your standard. Keep the past and those that love you, 
but don’t let them hem you — don’t let them stand between 
you and the future. Show your new world a big, generous, 
open heart, and it will open a heart as big and generous to 
you. Be arrogant and petty, and everything about you will 
reflect yourself. Oh, Nora, I am not preaching; a narrow 
heart is a curse to others and to itself.” 

There was a peculiar emphasis in her words, a note in her 
voice so like despair that it rang long afterward in Nora’s 


OUTWARD BOUND 


39 


memory. It cast a deeper shadow over her sinking spirits, 
and as she walked by her mother’s side toward the station 
which was to mark their first long parting, the hot, burning 
tears welled up in her eyes and only by a strong effort were 
kept back from overflow. Since that morning, with its bril- 
liant sunshine, its youth and hope, all had changed within 
her and without. The sunshine had yielded to cold, dark 
shadows, youth and hope lagged wearily, overcome by the 
growing tide of home-love. “Dear old England!” Nora 
whispered to herself. “Dear old England !” And the very 
shop windows, casting bright golden patches on the thicken- 
ing fog, seemed to have a special light of their own. The 
faces of the passers-by were dear to her because they were 
English faces and because she was going to a strange coun- 
try, where she would see them no more. Even the red brick 
church and “the monument” became hallowed in her mem- 
ory. In that moment of youthful grief she would have given 
worlds to know that she was going home, that there were to 
be no partings, that she was to live her life in the dull peace 
to which she had waved a joyous farewell that very morning. 

They entered the great station. The bustle and confusion 
brought her no relief — rather, it increased the sense of help- 
lessness which was growing stronger and stronger. For a 
moment she lost sight of her father and mother, and it was 
then she felt for the first time all the poignancy of the lone- 
liness which was, in less than a quarter of an hour, to become 
an irreparable reality. She turned, dazedly seeking a famil- 
iar face, and in the same instant a firm, warm hand clasped 
hers. 

“Nora— little girl !” 

It was Arnold who stood beside her. She recognized his 
strong, gaunt face with a sudden, joyous start which brought 
the color to her cheeks. Had she unconsciously been longing 


40 


DIVIDING WATERS 


for him? Had the heartache been a little because she had 
not seen him, because ever since that decisive morning he had 
kept away from her, taking her dismissal as final? Was it 
final ? These were things he at least might have asked as he 
felt the quick response of her touch and saw the light flash 
back into her tear-filled eyes. But Nora thought of nothing 
— asked no questions. She clung to his arm like a tired child. 

“Oh, I am so glad,” she said, almost incoherent with re- 
lief, “so glad !” 

“I couldn’t keep away,” he said, himself shaken by her 
sudden self-abandonment. “I did my best, but in the end I 
had to come. I could not let you go so far from me without 
a God-speed. And something seemed to tell me that' you 
would be glad to see me.” 

“I am !” she cried. “Of course I am !” 

They reached Mrs. Ingestre and her husband, who were 
busy with th^ luggage registration. A shadow seemed to 
pass over the former’s face as she saw the two together, but 
she greeted Arnold with her usual serene courtesy. 

“Miles has come too,” she said. 

Miles was, indeed, very much en evidence. He had made 
himself what he called “smart” for the occasion, and an ex- 
traordinary high collar and a flagrantly red tie certainly put 
him beyond all danger of being overlooked. His face was a 
trifle flushed — perhaps with the hurry of his arrival- — and his 
manner jocose. 

“You look as though you might flood the station any min- 
ute,” he told Nora. “I bet anything you’d give your bottom 
dollar to be out of it.” 

“Don’t, Miles!” she answered gently. “Of course I am 
sorry to leave you all. It is only natural.” 

Her eyes met Arnold’s, and perhaps they said more than 
she knew. He came back to her side. 


OUTWARD BOUND 


41 


“Let us go and find a comfortable corner for you,” he sug- 
gested. 

She followed him passively, and they walked along the 
platform to the end of the train, where the crowd of pas- 
sengers was less dense. 

“Dear little Nora!” he said, looking down at her with 
infinite pity and tenderness. The tears rushed again to her 
eyes. She fought them down courageously, but her voice 
shook as she answered : 

“It is so hard to go,” she said, “much harder than I 
thought this morning. I have only just realized how dear 
everything — everybody is to me.” 

“Nora, that is what I hoped. You are so young — you do 
not know your own heart. Now perhaps you can tell better 
— if there is any chance for me.” 

She saw the pleading in his face, and she made no answer. 
Her throat hurt her and she was no longer so sure. She did 
care for him, and if she had felt no thrill of passion at his 
touch, his presence seemed to envelop her in a warm, com- 
forting glow of protecting tenderness infinitely precious. 

“Nora,” he went on, “even now it is not too late. My 
dearest, what are you waiting for? What are you expecting 
to find? I believe I could make you happy — my love is so 
great.” 

She threw up her head with the determined gesture he 
knew so well. 

“I must go,” she said. “It would be weak and cowardly 
to turn back at the last minute. Only — ” 

“You will come back soon?” 

She nodded, her lips trembling. 

“I feel I must,” she said. 

“And you will write to me?” 

The Rev. John bustled up to them. He was flustered and 


42 


DIVIDING WATERS 


nervous, as people are to whom a journey of any sort is an 
event full of dangerous possibilities. 

“You must get in at once,” he said fussily. The train is 
just off. There, God bless you, my child ! Remember all I 
have said. And if you are not happy, or the people not nice, 
let us know at once.” 

Mrs. Ingestre clasped her daughter in a short, almost pas- 
sionate embrace. 

“Be happy !” she said again ; and the words were a bless- 
ing. 

The carriage door slammed to; somewhere from the rear 
they heard the guard’s shrill whistle, and gradually the train 
began to glide forward, leaving behind the little group of 
dearly loved faces. 

Arnold walked at the carriage side. 

“You will write to me often?” he pleaded. 

“Yes, yes, I will write.” 

“Tell me everything — everything you think and feel. Oh, 
Nora, it is so hard to let you go! But I have taken fresh 
hope. I believe you will come back soon — I believe it will 
all come right for us both.” 

The train was gathering speed. He had to run to keep 
pace with her carriage. 

“Nora, after all — you do care a little, don’t you?” 

She nodded. She was so tired, so heart-sick, that had it 
been possible she would have sprung out and put her hand 
in his in weary, thankful surrender. But it was too late. 
She could only look at him, and again her eyes told more 
than she perhaps would have said. He stood still, hat in 
hand, and waved to her, and the last she saw of him was a 
face full of hope and gratitude. 

“When you send for me, I shall come,” he said. 

The train glided into the suffocating darkness of a tunnel, 


OUTWARD BOUND 


43 


and when they once more emerged the station was far behind, 
and they were traveling faster and faster into the night. The 
lights of London, of home, of England swept past in blurred 
lines of fire. 

Nora Ingestre watched them, fighting bravely; but when 
they had disappeared she covered her eyes with her hand and! 
wept the silent, bitter tears of a first exile. 


CHAPTER V 


AMONG THE HEATHEN 

“T/ 7 * ARLSBURG! Alles aussteigen — Karlsburg!” 

i-V- Nora sprang up, roughly aroused from a half -doze 
by the stentorian tones and a general -move in her compart- 
ment. The fat German who had occupied the corner seat 
opposite her, and who had spent the journey in doing his best 
to justify her scorn and contempt for all foreigners, was 
heaving great masses of untidy luggage out of the window 
and shouting furiously for a Gepacktrager. In this perform- 
ance he trod more than once on Nora’s toes, thus arousing 
her so effectually that she made haste to convey herself and 
her belongings out into the narrow corridor congested with 
passengers and baggage. After a brief energetic scramble 
down the appalling staircase which separates the continental 
traveler from the platform, she landed safely and drew a 
sigh of relief. “Here I am at last !” she thought, comforted 
by the knowledge that the worst was over. The “worst” in 
connection with separations is the first twenty-four hours, 
the first night-fall, and the first awaking to changed sur- 
roundings and circumstances. After that, the human capac- 
ity for adjustment mercifully begins to display itself, and 
the first poignancy of grief is over — at any rate for those 
who have courage and youth to help them. And Nora had 
both. As she stood that morning on the deck of the Flushing 
boat, watching the pale, low outline of land, she had already 
felt the first glow of returning vigor. The keen sea-air had 

44 


AMONG THE HEATHEN 


45 


blown color into her cheeks ; the tears which had threatened 
to assert themselves so often the night before had dried at 
their source, and she had flung herself into the confusion of 
exchange from the boat to the waiting train with a pleased 
realization of her own independence. Then had come the 
long and glorious panorama along the Rhine, the frowning 
castles, the majestic spires of the great Dom, the new types 
of men and women hurrying backward and forward about 
the busy platforms. 

During the long hours Nora’s watchful, eager eyes never 
closed. This, then, was the new world to which she was to 
open her heart; these, then, the people whose qualities of 
goodness she was to learn to honor. The first task was easy 
enough — it was, indeed, a beautiful world. But the people? 
They were of another type than that to which she was ac- 
customed, and Nora, imbued with the pleasant insular con- 
viction that all English people are tall and handsome, found 
them so far little to her taste. In truth, a firmly rooted 
prejudice is not to be overcome in a moment, or even by the 
wisest precept, and not all Mrs. Ingestre’s eloquence could 
crush back the half-conscious superiority which her daughter 
experienced in that stuffy second-class coupe. Her fellow- 
passengers, be it confessed, were stout and inelegant, and 
they obviously preferred the window closed — points which 
were alone quite sufficient to stamp them as belonging to an 
inferior class. But the chief point was Nora’s own national- 
ity. The mere fact that she was English would have kept 
her in countenance even when confronted with the whole 
Imperial family, and, indeed, throughout the journey, with 
its difficulties, its various encounters with idiotic foreign por- 
ters who refuse to understand the English language, no mat- 
ter how loud it is shouted, she was sustained by a calm and 
inborn knowledge of her racial superiority. Thus she felt 


46 


DIVIDING WATERS 


no sense of loneliness or helplessness until the voice shouting 
“Karlsburg” had hurried her out on to the crowded, bustling 
platform. There for the first time she felt her own insignifi- 
cance, her own strangeness. She was really in a foreign 
country at last, and with all her superiority she stood there a 
forlorn handful of pretty, despairing girlhood, waiting for 
the first jabbering, gesticulating savage to rescue her from 
her perplexity. 

“A ch, liebes Kind , da hist du! Willkommen !” 

The eager, kindly voice and the cordial embrace were 
equally sudden and somewhat overwhelming. Steadying her 
hat from the effects of the shock, Nora turned to find herself 
held by a short, stout little woman, very out of breath, very 
excited, who was smiling and nodding at her as though at an 
old and very dear acquaintance. 

“Ach! you do not know me?” she interrogated, adding in 
the same gasp. “But how should you? I am ze old Fraulein 
Muller — you haf heard of her? Long ago she did teach ze 
muzzer, and now here is ze daughter — her muzzer every bit 
of her. Ach , du lieber Gott in Himmel! But I must not so 
much talk. Give ze man your Gepackschein, liebes Kind ” 

Half overcome by the torrent of words, Nora produced 
the document which she supposed answered to the name of 
Gepackschein. In the interval, whilst Fraulein Muller was 
apparently pouring volumes of mingled explanation and 
abuse over the head of an equally flustered porter, Nora had 
opportunity to study her rescuer. Fraulein Muller, she im- 
agined, was well over the fifties and, on account of her stout- 
ness, looked her age, but her face was as lively as it was 
plain, and the rotund figure in its dowdy brown dress cut 
after the manner of a long-forgotten fashion seemed to be 
bubbling over with seething sprightliness. Nora had a quick 
eye, and her critical faculties, at home usually dormant, were 


AMONG THE HEATHEN 


47 


on the alert. “How badly the Germans dress !” she thought. 
“What dreadful boots — and that dress ! I suppose it is her 
best, and it was probably quite expensive. Whatever could 
have made any one choose a color like that?” 

Her observations were cut short by her unconscious victim 
grasping her by the arm and hurrying her up and down dark 
flights of steps, the whole way continuing her explanations, 
peppered with gasps and exclamatory German outbreaks. 

“Ze portermans are ze stupidest race on ze earth,” she 
panted, “but I haf told him — I haf his number — if is zirty- 
one — please try and remember, liebes Kind — zat he must 
your Koffers bring at once. Ze Frau Baronin’s carriage is 
not big enoff to take more zan us two and your rugs. Ach, 
je! Ze many steps are not for one so short in ze breaths 
f as I !” 

They were out of the station at last — Nora had delivered 
up her ticket with the feeling that the last link between her 
and home was gone — and were greeted by a simply dressed 
footman, who conducted them to a brougham promptly 
summed up by N ora as shabby. 

Fraulein Muller dropped back into the cushions with a 
sigh of satisfaction. 

j “Now all is well,” she said. “I shall drive wiz you to the 
Frau Baronin’s house and see you safe in. She ask me to 
fetch you, as I knew I could easy find you. Ach , sie ist die 
Liebenswurdigkeit selber, die Frau Baronin!” 

“You are her great friend?” Nora suggested, seeking 
something to say. 

Fraulein Muller threw up her plump hands in the strain- 
ing brown kid gloves and laughed. 

“Nee, nee, liebes Kind , how should zat be? I am Frau- 
lein Muller — old Fraulein Muller — and she is the Baronin 
von Arnim.” 


48 ' 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Perhaps Nora’s look showed that the all-apparent' distinc- 
tion was not clear, for her companion went on with a soft 
chuckle : 

“Zat is somezing you vill understand wiz ze time, my dear. 
Ze Baronin is von great person and I am von nobody. Zat 
is all. I am proud zat I haf brought a so nice English girl 
— and glad to haf been able to give ze daughter of my dear 
pupil so nice a place. I am sure you will be very happy.” 

Nora’s arched brows contracted for a minute. Something 
in Fraulein Muller’s tone or words ruffled her — she was not 
quite sure why. The little woman was so obviously and 
naively impressed with the glories of Nora’s new position 
and with the greatness and splendor of the “Baronin,” of 
whom she spoke with almost bated breath, that N ora’s self- 
importance was somewhat wounded. Besides which, she 
regarded both matters as decidedly “unproven.” The “Bar- 
onin,” she felt sure, was a snobbish person, probably very 
stout and ponderous, and as for her splendor and greatness, 
it remained yet to be seen. Armorial bearings with a 
seven-pearled crown — after all, Nora knew very well that 
everybody was a count or a baron in Germany — and a bone- 
shaking brougham with a shabby footman proved nothing 
at all. Thus Nora expressed neither gratitude nor gratifica- 
tion, and her manner was perhaps more chilly than she 
intended, for her companion subsided into an abrupt silence, 
which lasted until the carriage drew up and the door was 
opened by the despised attendant. 

“Now you are here !” she cried, springing out with surpris- 
ing agility. “I vill come no further — my leetle Stage is just 
round the corner. In a day or two I vill venture to pay re- 
spects on the Baronin and see how all goes wiz you. Until 
then — lebewohl!” 

Much to Nora’s relief, she was not embraced a second 


AMONG THE HEATHEN 


49 


time. A warm squeeze of the hand, which seemed, somehow, 
to express a slight “hurtness,” and the stumpy little figure 
disappeared into the darkness, leaving Nora to face her des- 
tiny alone. 

It was now dusk, and she had only time to take in the dim 
outline of a small, square house before the footman led her 
up the steps to the already opened door. A flood of light 
greeted her as she entered the hall, and seemed to intensify 
its unfurnished coldness. Little as she had expected, the 
barren white walls and carpetless stone floor cast a chill over 
her courage which not even the beaming smile of a pleasant- 
faced but far from stylish parlormaid could wholly dispel. 

“Die gnadige Frau wartet in Salon,” she said, and pro- 
ceeded to conduct the way farther down the passage, switch- 
ing off the electric light carefully as she went. 

In spite of everything, Nora’s heart beat faster with antic- 
ipation and an inevitable nervousness. The great moment 
had arrived which was to decide the future. “As long as she 
is fat and comfortable like Fraulein Muller, I daresay it 
won’t be so bad,” she told herself, but prepared for the worst. 
A minute later and she was ushered into a room so utterly at 
variance with what had gone before and her own expecta- 
tions that she stood still on the threshold with a little inward 
gasp of surprise. 

The softly shaded light revealed to her quick young eyes 
an elegance, if not luxury, whose details she had no time to 
gather. She received only an impression of warm, delicate 
colors, soft stuffs, rich, sound-deadening carpets and the 
touch of an indefinable personality, whose charm seemed to 
linger on every drapery. From the ugly stone wall to this 
had been no more than a step, but that step divided one 
world from another, and Nora stood hesitating seeking in 
the shadows the personality whose influence she felt already 


50 


DIVIDING WATERS 


like a living force. She had no more than an instant to wait. 
Then a tall, slight figure rose out of one of the chairs drawn 
out of the circle of light and came to meet her. 

“You are very welcome, Miss Ingestre,” a voice said, and 
her hand was taken and she was led farther into the room. 
“I would have met you myself, but I had no method of rec- 
ognizing you, and the gute Fraulein Muller seemed so sure 
that she would be able to find her old pupil’s daughter.” 

The voice was low, the English almost perfect, though a 
little slow, as though from want of practice, the touch of the 
hand firm and cool. Somehow, in that moment poor Nora 
felt painfully aware that she was dirty and untidy from the 
journey and, above all, that she was terribly young and awk- 
ward. Yet her natural frankness stood her in good stead. 
She looked up, smiling. 

“Fraulein Muller picked me out at once,” she said. “I 
must be very like my mother, otherwise I can not think how 
she found me.” 

“In any case, the great thing is that you are found,” Frau 
von Arnim said. “Come and sit down here. You see, we 
have a real English tea waiting for you.” 

Nora obeyed willingly, and whilst the white, delicate 
hands were busy with the cups standing on the low tray, she 
had opportunity to study the woman upon whom the weal or 
woe of perhaps a whole long year depended. “She is not as 
beautiful as my mother,” Nora thought, but' the criticism was 
no disparagement. If Frau von Arnim was not actually 
beautiful, she at least bore on every feature marked refine- 
ment, and the expression of the whole face, pale and slightly 
haughty though it was, had a certain indefinable fascination 
which held Nora’s attention riveted. She was dressed ele- 
gantly, moreover, in some dark color which suited the brown 
hair and the slow hazel eyes which, Nora felt positive, had 


AMONG THE HEATHEN 


51 


in one quiet glance taken in every detail of her appearance. 

“We are so very glad that you have come,” Frau von 
Arnim went on. “My daughter and I love everything that 
is English, but, alas, nice English people are rarae aves in 
Karlsburg. We have only the scum of all nations, and I 
can not tell you how pleased we were when your mother de- 
cided to entrust you to our care.” 

The tone of the words was delicate and kind, suggesting 
a conferred favor on Nora’s side which somehow had the 
reverse effect. In her youthful and insular arrogance Nora 
had felt that the “German family” which boasted of her 
services was to be congratulated, and that the real and only 
question of importance was whether she liked them. Now 
she found herself wondering what this serene and graceful 
woman was thinking of her . 

“I’m afraid I’m not a bit a glory to my nation,” she said, 
with school-girlish humility. “I wish I was.” 

Frau von Arnim laughed. 

“We like you very much already,” she said. “Besides, you 
could not help being nice with such a charming mother.” 

Nora started with pleased surprise, and whatever had been 
unconsciously antagonistic in her melted into an impulsive 
gratitude which spoke out of the heightened color and bright, 
frank eyes. 

“Do you know my mother, then?” she asked. 

“No, only by her letters. But letters betray far more than 
the writers think. I often feel when I meet some reserved, 
unfathomable person who interests me, that if he would 
only write me the shortest note I should know more of him 
and better, than after hours of conversation. And Mrs. 
Ingestre and I have exchanged many long letters. We feel 
almost as though she were an old friend; don’t we, Hilde- 
garde ?” 


52 


DIVIDING WATERS 


This sudden appeal to a third person revealed to Nora 
the fact that they were not alone. Frau von Amim rose, 
smiling at her bewilderment, and took her by the hand. 

“You must think us very rude, strange people,” she said, 
“but my daughter has been listening and watching all this 
time. You see, it is for her sake that we wanted you to come 
and live with us, and she had a whim that she would like to 
see you without being seen. Invalids may have whims and 
be pardoned, may they not?” 

Whilst she had been speaking she had led Nora to the far 
end of the room. There, lying on a sofa drawn well into the 
shadow, Nora now perceived a girl of about her own age, 
whose thin, white face was turned to greet her with a 
mingling of apology and that pathetic humility which goes 
with physical weakness. 

“Do not be angry,” she said, holding out a feeble hand. 
“I’m so afraid of strangers. I felt I should like to see you 
first — before you saw me. I do not know why — it was just 
a whim, and, as mother says, when one is ill one may perhaps 
be forgiven.” 

“Of course,” Nora said gently. To herself she was think- 
ing how beautiful suffering can be. The face lifted to hers 
— the alabaster complexion, the great dark eyes and fine 
aristocratic features framed in a bright halo of disordered 
hair — seemed to her almost unearthly in its spiritualized 
loveliness. And then there was the expression, so void of all 
vanity, so eloquent with the appeal : “You are so strong, so 
beautiful in your youth and strength. Be pitiful to me !” 

Governed by some secret impulse, Nora looked up and 
found that Frau von Arnim was watching her intently. A 
veil had been lifted from the proud patrician eyes, revealing 
depths of pain and grief which spoke to Nora much as the 
younger eyes had spoken, save with the greater poignancy of 


AMONG THE HEATHEN 


53 


experience : “You are strong, and life offers you what it will 
always withhold from my child. Be pitiful !” 

And then prejudice, reserve, her own 'griefs, were swept out 
of Nora’s hot young heart on a wave of sympathy. She still 
held the thin hand clasped in her own. She clasped it tighter, 
and her answer to the unspoken appeal came swift and un- 
premeditated. 

“I hope you will like me,” she said. “I am so glad I have 
come.” 

Hildegarde Arnim’s pale face flushed with pleasure. 

“I do like you,” she said. I do hope you will be happy 
with us.” 

And then, to their mutual surprise, the two girls kissed 
each other. 


CHAPTER VI 


A LETTER HOME 

“T NEVER realized before now how true it is that all 
X men are brothers,” Nora Ingestre wrote home to her 
mother at the end of her first week in Karlsburg. “I used 
to believe that we English were really the only people who 
counted, the really only nice people, and the rest were sort 
of outsiders on quite another level. And now all my ideas 
are turned topsy-turvy. I keep on saying to myself, ‘Why, 
she is just like an Englishwoman,’ or ‘How English he 
looks !’ and then I have to admit that the simple reason why 
I think they look English is because they look nice, and it 
seems there are nice people all the world over. Of course 
there are differences — one notices them especially among the 
poorer classes — and so far, I can only judge the men from 
a distance; but if I met the Gnadige Frau , as she is called, 
in any drawing-room, I should think, ‘Well, with one excep- 
tion, she is the most charming woman I have ever met,’ and 
never have so much as guessed that she could belong to any 
country but my own. Hildegarde is a dear, too. Although 
she has known me such a short time, she treats me almost as 
though I were her sister — in fact, I am sort of enfant gate 
in the house, everybody, from Freda, the sturdy little house- 
maid, upward, doing their best to show their good will to 
the ‘kleine englische Dame / (You see, I am picking up 
German fast !) Both the Gnadige Frau and Hildegarde know 
English well and seem to enjoy talking, though one-half of 

54 


A LETTER HOME 


55 


the day is dedicated to my first German efforts, which, I am 
sure, have the most comical results. But no one ever laughs 
at you. Even Johann, the coachman, keeps quite a straight 
face when I call him *. du ’■ — a disgraceful piece of endearment 
which seems to haunt me every time I open my mouth. That 
reminds me to tell you that yesterday we went for a lovely 
drive in the Wild Park, the private property of the Grand 
Duke. Driving is the only outdoor enjoyment which is left 
for poor Hildegarde, and it is terribly hard on her, because 
she loves riding and driving and tennis, and all that' sort of 
thing. It seems she had a bad accident whilst out riding 
two years ago with her cousin, who is a captain in the Artil- 
lery here, and since then she has always been ill. She never 
complains, and is always so sweet and patient that it makes 
one despise oneself for not being an angel outright, but I 
know that she has her struggles. Yesterday, for instance, 
Johann was giving the horse a breathing space in a lovely 
allee — oh, you would have enjoyed it, darling! It was just 
like a glorious bit of England, with great oak trees on either 
side and lots of deer and — there, now ! I have lost myself ! 
Where was I? — Oh, yes, in the allee, when an officer gal- 
loped past and saluted. I hardly saw his face, but he cer- 
tainly looked very smart in his dark-blue uniform, and he 
sat his horse as though he were part of it. He turned out 
to be Herr von Arnim, the cousin in question, and I would 
not have thought any more about him had it not been for a 
glimpse I caught of Hildegarde’s face. She is always pale, 
but just at that moment she looked almost ghastly, and her 
lips were tight-pressed together, as though she were in pain. 
Somehow, I knew it was not physical, so I did not dare say 
anything, but I have wondered since whether it was the mem- 
ory of all the splendid gallops she used to have and will 
never have again, or whether — but there ! I must not let my 


56 


DIVIDING WATERS 


fancy run away with me. Anyhow, I am quite anxious to see 
the ‘Herr Baron’ again. Perhaps I shall to-morrow at the 
Gnadige Frau’s ‘At Home’ — at least, I suppose it is an ‘At 
Home’ or a German equivalent — a function which fills me 
with the profoundest awe and alarm. Imagine me, dearest, 
with my knowledge of the German language, in a crowd of 
natives ! What will happen to me, I wonder? If I am lucky, 
the earth will open and swallow me up before I say some- 
thing dreadful by mistake.” 

“ September 15 . — You see, I am writing my letter in diary 
form, so that you get all the details — which is what you 
want ; is it not, dearest ? And, indeed, there are so many de- 
tails that I do not know where to begin. At any rate, the 
‘At Home’ is over, which is a comfort, for it was even more 
exciting than I had expected. The crowd was awful — there 
were so many people that one could hardly breathe, and I 
was so frightened of some one speaking to me that I had to 
keep on repeating to myself, ‘Remember you are English! 
Remember you are English !’ in order to prevent a disorderly 
and undignified flight. Fortunately there was too much con- 
fusion for anybody to notice my insignificant person, and at 
last I managed to hide myself in an obscure alcove, where I 
could see and not be seen. On the whole it was the most 
mixed ‘At Home’ I have ever seen, and I am sure it would 
have shocked Mrs. Chester beyond words. You know how 
much she thinks of clothes and all that sort of thing. Well, 
here, apparently, no one thinks anything of them at all. 
Some of the biggest ‘aristocrats’ — they were nearly all ‘aris- 
tocrats,’ as I found out afterward — were dressed in fashions 
which must have been in vogue when I was born, and nobody 
seemed to think it in the least funny. Of course, there were 
well-dressed people and a few young officers in uniform, 
who brightened matters up with a little color, but I had no 


A LETTER HOME 


57 


time to take in more than a general impression, for just as I 
was settling down to enjoy myself, some one spoke to me. 
Fortunately it was in English, or I have no doubt I should 
have fainted ; as it was, I looked up and found a man in a 
pale-blue uniform standing beside me with his heels clapped 
together, evidently waiting for me to say something. I sup- 
posed he had introduced himself, for I had heard him say 
‘Bauer’ in a rather grating voice, but I felt very far from 
friendly. You know how I am, mother. I take violent likes 
and dislikes, and I can not hide either the one or the other. 
And almost in the same instant that I saw this man’s face I 
disliked him. I can not tell you why. He was good looking 
enough and his manners were polished, but there was some- 
thing in his face, in the way he looked at me, which made 
me angry — and afraid. It sounds absurd to talk of being 
afraid at a harmless German ‘At Home,’ but if I believed in 
omens I should say that the man is destined to bring me mis- 
fortune and that the instant I saw him I knew it. Please 
don’t laugh — I am only trying to explain to you how intense 
the feeling was, and to make my subsequent behavior seem 
less foolish. I fancy I was not friendly in my answers or 
in my looks, but he sat down beside me and went on talking. 
It does not matter what he said. He spoke English well, 
and seemed to ‘listen to himself’ with a good deal of satis- 
faction, all the time never taking his eyes off my face. Some- 
how, though everything he said was polite enough, I felt that 
he looked upon me as a kind of ‘dependent’ with whom he 
could amuse himself as he pleased ; and that made my blood 
boil. I prayed for some one to come and fetch me away, and 
just then Frau von Arnim passed close to where I was sit- 
ting. I heard her ask after me and say something about 
music (I had promised to play), and suddenly I felt 
ashamed. I wondered what she would think of me if she 


58 


DIVIDING WATERS 


found me sitting in a secluded corner with a man whom I 
had never seen before and to whom I had never been prop- 
erly introduced. After all, she does not know me well 
enough to understand — well, that I am not that sort, and the 
idea that she might think badly of me with an appearance 
of reason was more than I could bear. There is a small door 
in the alcove leading out into the hall, and just when my un- 
invited companion was in the middle of a sentence I got up 
and went out without a word of explanation. I am afraid 
it was neither a very dignified nor sensible proceeding, and it 
certainly landed me into worse difficulties, since the next 
thing I knew after my stormy exit was that I had collided 
violently with a man standing in the hall. Of course, my 
fragment of German forsook me, and I gasped, ‘I beg your 
pardon!’ in English, to which my victim answered, ‘I beg 
your pardon !’ also in English, but with the faintest possible 
accent. After that I recovered enough from the shock to 
draw back and assume as much dignity as I could under the 
circumstances. My victim was a tall, broad-shouldered man 
— of course in uniform — and though it was already twilight 
in the hall I could see that he had a pleasant, sun-burnt face 
and bright eyes, which at that moment looked very much 
amused. I suppose my attempt at dignity was rather a fail- 
ure. T hope I did not hurt you ?’ he asked, and when I had 
reassured him on that point he suggested that he should in- 
troduce himself, as there was no one there to do it for him. 
Whereupon he clicked his spurs together and said, ‘Von 
Amim. Miss Ingestre, I think?’ I asked him how he 
knew my name, and he said, as a Prussian officer it was his 
duty to know everything, and that he had heard so much 
about Miss Ingestre that it was impossible not to recognize 
her. And then we stood looking at each other, I feeling hor- 
ribly awkward, he evidently still very much amused. Then 


A LETTER HOME 


59 


he proposed to take me back into the drawing-room, but that 
was the last thing I wanted, and I said so in my usual rude 
way, which seemed to amuse him still more. 

“ ‘But why not?’ he asked. (I give you the conversation 
in full.) 

“ ‘Because they wanted me to play.* (It was the first ex- 
cuse I could think of.) 

“ ‘Is that kind? You are depriving my aunt’s guests of a 
great treat.’ 

“ ‘How do you know?’ 

“ ‘Military instinct.’ 

“I could not help laughing at him. 

“ ‘Your military instinct is all wrong,’ I said. ‘At any 
rate, I don’t want to go back.’ 

“I don’t know why, but I fancy he suspected there was 
something more in the matter than I had explained. At any 
rate, he grew suddenly quite grave. 

“ ‘You see, I have taken you prisoner of war,’ he said, ‘and 
it is my duty to keep you in sight. At the same time, I wish 
to make your captivity as agreeable as possible. Suppose I 
persuade my aunt not to worry you to play, and suppose I 
see that no one else worries you — will you come back ?’ 

“I said ‘Yes’ in a lamb-like fashion altogether new to me, 
and after he had hung up his sword he opened the door and 
bowed me in. I saw my first partner staring at us, but I felt 
curiously at my ease, not any more strange and helpless. And 
Herr von Arnim was so nice. After he had paid his respects 
all round he came back and brought me some tea and talked 
to me about the opera, to which we are going to-morrow 
evening. I forgot to tell you about it, didn’t I? It is the 
Walkiire , and I am bubbling over with excitement, as Frau 
von Arnim has given me her seat at the opera so that I can 
always go with Hildegarde. She is good to me. Sometimes 


60 


DIVIDING WATERS 


I think she must be very rich, and then there are things which 
make me doubtful — the old pill-box brougham, for instance. 
But perhaps that is just German style — or lack of it. I must 
stop now, or I shan’t have stamps enough to post this letter. 
Indeed, I do not know why I have given you all these details. 
They are very unimportant — but somehow they seemed im- 
portant when I was writing. Good-night, dearest ! 

“September 16 . — It is nearly twelve o’clock, and the 
Gnadige Frau told me I should hurry straight to bed and 
make up for the lost beauty-sleep, but I simply can’t ! I feel 
I must sit down and tell you all about it whilst I am still 
bubbling over with it all and the Feuerzauber and the Liebes- 
motif and all the other glories are making symphonies of my 
poor brains. Oh, mother darling ! how you would have en- 
joyed it! That is always my first thought when I hear or 
see something beautiful, and to-night — to-night I feel as 
though I had been let into a new world. Do you remember 
that glorious evening when you took me to hear Traviata in 
Covent Garden ? Of course I loved it — but this was so abso- 
lutely different. It was like drinking some noble wine after 
sugared buns and milk. The music didn’t try to please you 
— it just swept you away with it on great wings of sound till 
you stood above all Creation and looked into the deepest 
secrets of life. Your own heart opened and grew, everything 
mean and petty was left far, far beneath. I felt suddenly 
that I understood things I had never even thought of before 
— myself and the whole world. Of course, that is over now. 
I am just like a wingless angel stumbling over the old earthly 
obstacles, but I shall never forget the hours when I was al- 
lowed to fly above them all. Oh dear, does this sound very 
silly? It is so hard to explain. I feel as though this even- 
ing had wrought some great change in me, as though I had 
grown wisqr, or at any rate older. Perhaps it is only a feel- 


A LETTER HOME 


61 


ing which will pass, and I shall awake to-morrow to find my- 
self the old Nora. Surely one evening can not bring a last- 
ing change ! 

“I must not forget to tell you that I met Herr von Amim 
again. He came up to speak to Hildegarde after the first 
act, and I was glad to find that my first impression of him 
was correct. If I had gone by my old prejudices and by 
Lieutenant Bauer I should have always believed that German 
officers were frightful boors, but Herr von Arnim seems just 
like an English gentleman, a little stiff and ceremonious at 
first, perhaps, but not in the least conceited or self-conscious. 
Of course he talks English excellently — he told me he was 
working it up for some examination or other, so perhaps he 
thought I was a good subject to practice on. At any rate, 
he was very attentive, and stayed with us until long after the 
bell had rung, so that he had to hurry to get back to his 
place in time. There were quite a number of officers present, 
and some of the uniforms are very smart, but I like the 
artillery best — dark blue with a black velvet collar. It looks 
elegant and business-like at the same time. Certainly it 
suits Herr von Arnim. He is not exactly a handsome man, 
but well-built, with a strong, sunburnt face, a small fair 
mustache and very straight-looking eyes with those little 
lines at the corners which you always say indicate a well- 
developed sense of humor. Altogether, good looks and nice 
manners seem to run in the Arnim family. He brought us 
some chocolates in the second pause, and was very amusing. 
Hildegarde seems fond of him and he of her in a cousinly 
sort of way. He is so kind and attentive to her — almost as 
though it were his fault that she is a cripple. I wonder — 
oh dear ! I have just heard the clock outside strike one, and 
I am so sleepy I do not know how I shall ever get into bed. 

I meant only to tell you about the music, and instead I have 


62 


DIVIDING WATERS 


been wandering on about Wolff von Arnim! Good night, 
my darling. Though I am so happy I am always thinking 
of you and wishing you were here to make me enjoy it all 
double. Sometimes I am very ‘mother-sick,’ but I fight 
against it because I know you want me to be happy, and it 
seems ungrateful to lament. Love to father and Miles and 
ever so much to you, dearest. 

“Your devoted daughter, 

“Nora. 

“P. S. — I have written a little note to Robert telling him 
about my arrival. He asked me to, and I couldn’t refuse, 
could I? He seems so genuinely fond of me, and I — oh 
dear ! I only wish I knew ! 

“P. SS. — They are giving the second evening of the Ring 
next Sunday. Herr von Arnim says that a great many 
people think it even grander than the Walkure and the Got- 
terddmmerung (Sunday fortnight) grandest of all. Hilde- 
garde is going to both, if she is strong enough, and he says 
I must come too. I told him that I knew father would 
strongly disapprove, and he said quite solemnly, and with a 
funny little German accent, that he thought an ‘English 
Sunday the invention of the deevil,’ which made me laugh. 
I wonder if it would be wrong to go? I know what father 
would say, but somehow, when I come to think over it, I 
can’t feel horrified at' the idea. I can’t believe that it is 
wrong to listen to such grand, beautiful music — even on 
Sunday; as Herr von Arnim said, ‘I am sure der liebe Gott 
would rather see you good and happy enjoying the wonders 
He has made than bored and bad-tempered, wishing that 
Sunday was well over.’ What do you think, mother? Let 
me know soon. I will not do anything you do not like. 

“P. SSS. — I think we had better keep to our first arrange- 


A LETTER HOME 


63 


ment that my letters should be quite private. You see, I tell 
you everything, and father might not always understand. 

“P. SSSS. — What a lot of postscrips ! I am sure I must 
be very feminine, after all. I quite forgot to tell you that 
Fraulein Muller called the other day. She was very nervous 
and flustered, and treats the ‘Frau Baronin’ as though she 
were a sort of deity to be propitiated at all costs. She also 
asked me to tea. I went, but I won’t go again if I can help 
it. I was never so near suffocating in my life. All the win- 
dows were double and had not been opened, I should imagine, 
since August, so that the August air was unpleasantly inter- 
mingled with the fumes of a furiously energetic stove, against 
which I had the honor of sitting for four mortal hours. But 
she was so friendly and kind that it seems horrid to complain, 
only — Heaven preserve me from being poor and living in a 
German flat !” 

Mrs. Ingestre read the letter carefully. She then tore it 
up and answered the same day : 

“As regards your question — do what your conscience tells 
you, Nora. You are old enough to judge, and I have per- 
fect confidence in you. Be true and good, and I too think 
that God will not blame you if you rule your life according 
to the opinions He has given you rather than the arbitrary 
laws which we have made. Do what seems honestly right to 
you and you can not do wrong — at least, not in His sight.” 

This letter was shown to the Rev. John, her husband, but 
of the scene that followed, where righteous indignation and 
quiet resolve fought out a bitter struggle, Nora heard noth- 
ing. She only knew that the letter had been safely posted, 
and that once again her mother had forced open the doors 
of liberty. 


CHAPTER VII 


A DUET 

H EINE HERRN, to the Moltke of the future, the 
pride of the regiment, er lebe — hoch — hoch — hoch! 
The little group of officers gathered round the mess-table 
responded to the toast with an enthusiasm that was half 
bantering, half sincere. There followed a general clinking 
of glasses, the pleasant popping of champagne corks, and a 
chorus of more or less intelligible congratulations, against 
which the recipient stood his ground with laughing good 
nature, his hands spread out before his face as though to 
hide natural blushes of embarrassment. 

“Spare me, children!” he explained as the tumult gradu- 
ally subsided. “Do you not know that great men are al- 
ways modest? Your adulation throws me into the deepest 
possible confusion, from which I can only sufficiently extri- 
cate myself to promise you — ” 

“Another bottle?” a forward young ensign suggested. 
“Not at all,” with a wave of the hand, “nothing so 
basely material — but my fatherly patronage when I am head 
of the Staff, as of course I shall be within a few years. Work 
hard, my sons, and who knows? One of you may actually 
become my adjutant !” 

Amidst derisive laughter he drained his glass, and then 
turned quickly, his attention having been arrested by a slight 
touch upon the shoulder. Unobserved in the general con- 
fusion, a tall, slightly built man, wearing the uniform of 

64 


r A DUET 


65 


an officer of the Red Dragoons, had entered the mess-room 
and, leaning on his sword-hilt in an attitude of weary im- 
patience, had taken up his place behind the last speaker. 
He now held out his hand. 

“Congratulate you, Arnim,” he said. “I heard the racket 
outside as I was passing, and came in for enlightenment as 
to the cause. Seleneck has just told me. Permit me to drink 
your health.” He had taken the glass which a neighbor 
had proffered him and raised it slightly. “May you con- 
tinue as you have begun !” he added. 

“Many thanks.” was the brief answer. 

There was a moment’s silence. The new-comer sipped 
at his share of the German champagne and then put down 
the glass with a faint contracting of the features which sug- 
gested a smothered grimace. 

“You must let me order up a bottle of Cliquot,” he said. 
“A great occasion should be worthily celebrated.” 

Arnim shook his head. 

“Again — many thanks. I have had enough, and it is of 
no use cultivating expensive tastes. But you perhaps . . . ?” 

“If you have no objection.” The dragoon beckoned an 
orderly, and, having given his instructions, seated himself 
at the table and drew out a cigarette-case. 

“This means Berlin for you,” he said. “When do your 
orders date from?” 

“From next summer. I shall still have some months with 
the regiment.” 

“So? That’s tiresome. The sooner one gets away from 
this God-forsaken hole the better. By the way, there will 
be quite a little party of us with you. Seleneck tells me he 
is expecting a Kommando at the Turnschule, and I am mov- 
ing heaven and earth to get ditto. You, lucky dog, are freed 
for ever from this treadmill existence.” 


66 


DIVIDING WATERS 


The young artillery captain glanced sharply at the speak- 
er’s good looking face, and a close observer would have 
noticed that his brows had contracted. 

“The way out is open to every one,” he observed curtly. 

The other laughed and chose to misunderstand him. 

“Only to the workers, my dear fellow. And I confess that 
work has no fascination for me. I am not ambitious enough, 
and on the whole I suppose one form of drudgery is as bad 
as another. You like that sort of thing, and I envy you, but 
I fear I have no powers of emulation.” 

There was something grim in Arnim’s subsequent silence 
which might have drawn the dragoon’s attention had it been, 
allowed to last. At that moment, however, an elderly-look- 
ing officer detached himself from the group by the window 
and came to where the two men were seated. 

“I’m off home,” he said. “Are you coming my way, 
Arnim?” 

Arnim rose with an alacrity which suggested itself. 

“Yes, as far as the Kaiser Strasse. You will excuse me, 
Bauer ? I must tell the good news at home, or I shall never 
be forgiven.” 

The dragoon bowed. t 

“Of course. By the way,” he added, as Arnim slipped 
into the overcoat which the orderly had brought him, “that 
is a pretty English girl your aunt has picked up. I met her 
the last time I was at the house. What’s her name?” 

“You are probably referring to Miss Ingestre.” 

“Ingestre? Well, she’s a pretty little piece of goods, any- 
how — though not particularly friendly.” He threw back 
his head and laughed, as though at some amusing remi- 
niscence. “Imagine ; I had just settled myself down to a 
comfortable tete-a-tete when she got up and bolted — straight 
out of the room like a young fury. I was rather taken aback 


'A DUET 


67 


until I consoled myself with the reflection that all English 
people are mad — even the pretty ones.” 

During his recital a sudden light of comprehension flashed 
over Arnim’s face. He half smiled, but the smile was inde- 
finably sarcastic. 

“No doubt Miss Ingestre had her good reasons for in- 
terrupting your comfortable t$te-a-tete/ y he observed. 
“Though English people may suffer from madness, there 
is usually method in it.” 

“No doubt she had her good reasons for her return five 
minutes later,” was the retort. “There was method in that 
madness, at any rate.” 

The two men looked each other straight in the eyes. 
Arnim’s hand rested on his sword-hilt, and the smile had 
died away from his lips. 

“Perhaps I ought to remind you that Miss Ingestre is my 
aunt’s guest, and therefore under my protection,” he said 
slowly. 

“The reminder is quite unnecessary,” the dragoon re- 
turned with perfect sang-froid. “I meant no offense either 
to you or Miss Ingestre; and poaching is, anyhow, not one 
of my vices.” 

Arnim hesitated an instant, then, with a curt bow, he 
slipped his arm through that of the officer standing beside 
him. 

“Come, Seleneck,” he said, “I have wasted time enough.” 

The two men made their way out of the Casino into the 
street. A sharp east wind greeted them, and Wolff von 
Arnim drew a deep breath of relief. 

“I need fresh air,” he said. “A man like Bauer stifles 
me, sickens me. I cannot imagine why he always seeks my 
society. He must know that I have no liking for him. Does 
he wish to pick a quarrel?” 


68 


DIVIDING WATERS 


The elder man shook his head. 

“You are a harsh judge, Wolff,” he said. “As far as I 
know, Bauer is a harmless fellow enough. It is true that 
he swaggers a good deal with his money and is rather push- 
ing in circles where he is not wanted, but for the rest — I 
have heard nothing to his discredit.” 

“That may be,” was the quick answer. “There are dis- 
honorable men who act honorably out of caution, and honor- 
able men who act dishonorably out of rashness. I do not 
want to be unjust, but I cannot help putting Bauer in the 
former category. My instinct warns me against him — and 
not only my instinct. A man who talks about duty as a 
drudgery and is content to get through life without success 
and with as little effort as possible is a useless drone. In our 
calling he is worse than that — a parasite.” 

Seleneck sighed. 

“Oh, you ambitious, successful fellows!” he said with a 
lugubrious tug at his mustache. “You talk as scornfully of 
‘getting through life without success’ as though it were a 
crime. Look at me — gray hairs already, a family man, and 
still nothing more than a blundering old captain, who will 
be thankful if he is allowed at the end to retire with a 
major’s pension. I am one of your drones — a parasite, if 
you like, and certainly a failure, but Heaven knows it is 
not my wish.” 

“You are no more a failure than the best of us,” Wolff 
von Arnim answered vigorously. “I know you, alter Kerl, 
and I know you have given your best strength, your best 
thought to your calling; I know ‘duty’ is the Alpha and 
Omega of your life — no one could ask more of you.” 

“I have done my best,” was the simple answer. “It 
hasn’t come to much, but still, it was my best. You, Wolff, 
will go much farther.” 


A DUET 


69 


They -were passing under the light of a street lamp as 
he spoke, and Arnim glanced at his companion’s face. There 
was perhaps something written on the plain yet honest and 
soldierly features which touched him, for his own relaxed, 
and the softened expression made him seem almost boyish. 

“If I do my duty as well as you have done, I shall be 
very proud,” he said earnestly. 

They walked on in silence, each absorbed in his own 
thoughts, and then Seleneck came to a standstill. 

“Our ways end here,” he said. “I suppose you are going 
to Frau von Arnim’s?” 

“Yes; I must let her know my good luck. She will be 
very glad.” 

“And the little cousin — will she be Very glad’?” 

Arnim met the quizzical not unkindly glance with an al- 
most imperceptible change of countenance. 

“I suppose so. Why shouldn’t she?” 

“She will miss you.” 

Arnim did not answer. He seemed suddenly caught in a 
painful train of thought, from which his companion made no 
effort to arouse him. 

“Poor little soul !” he said at last, half to himself. “It 
is terribly hard luck on her. No one loved life as she did, 
and now” — his brows contracted — “sometimes I feel as 
though I were to blame,” he added abruptly. 

“What nonsense!” Seleneck retorted. “Are you re- 
sponsible because a horse shies and a girl has the misfortune 
to be thrown?” 

“Perhaps not; but the feeling of responsibility is not so 
easily shaken off. I never see her — or her mother — without 
cursing the impulse that made me take her out that day.” 

“It might just as well have happened any other day and 
with any one else,” Seleneck retorted cold-bloodedly. 


70 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Of course. Only one cannot reason like that with one s 
conscience. At any rate, there is nothing I would not do 
to make her happy — to atone to her. Besides,” he added 
hastily, as though he had said something he regretted, “I 
am very fond of her.” 

The older man tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Alter Junge” he said pointedly, “I can trust your career 
to your brains, but I am not so sure that I can trust your 
life to your heart. Take care that you do not end up as 
Field Marshal with Disappointment as your adjutant. 
Lebewohl ” 

With an abrupt salute he turned and strode off into the 
gathering twilight, leaving Arnim to put what interpretation 
he chose to the warning. That the warning had not been 
without effect was clear. Arnim went up the steps of the 
square-built house with a slowness that suggested reluctance, 
and the features beneath the dark-blue cap, hitherto alight 
with energy and enthusiasm, had suddenly become graver 
and older. 

He found Frau von Arnim in her private sitting-room, 
writing letters. She turned with a pleased smile as he 
entered, and held out a hand which he kissed affectionately. 
The bond between them was indeed an unusually close one, 
and dated from Wolff’s first boyhood, when as a pathetically 
small cadet he had wept long-controlled and bitter tears on 
her kind shoulder and confided to her all the wrongs with 
which his elder comrades darkened his life. From that time 
he had been a constant Sunday guest at her table, had been 
Hildegarde’s playfellow throughout the long Sunday after- 
noons, and had returned to the grim Cadettenhaus at night- 
fall laden with contraband of the sort dearest to a boy’s 
heart. Afterward, as ensign and young lieutenant, he had 
still looked up to her with the old confidence, and to this 


r A DUET 


71 


very hour there had been no passage in his life, wise or 
foolish, of which she was not cognizant. She had been 
mother, father and comrade to him, and it was more by 
instinct than from any sense of duty that he had come to 
her first with his good news. 

“I have been appointed to the Staff in Berlin,” he said. 
“The order arrived this afternoon. It’s all a step in the 
right direction, isn’t it? At any rate, I shall be out of the 
routine and able to do head-work to my heart’s — I mean 
head’s content.” 

Frau von Amim laughed and pressed the strong hand 
which still held hers. 

“It is splendid, Wolff,” she said. “I knew that the day 
would come when we should be proud of unsren Junge. 
Who knows? Perhaps as an old, old woman I shall be able 
to hobble along on a stately general’s arm — that is, of course, 
if he will be seen with such an old wreck. But” — her face 
overshadowed somewhat — “when shall we have to part with 
you ?” 

“Not for some months,” he said, seating himself beside 
her, “and then I think you had better pack up your goods 
and chattels and come too. I shall never be able to exist 
without you to keep me in order and Hildegarde to cheer 
me up.” 

“I have never noticed that you wanted much keeping in 
order,” Frau von Arnim said with a grave smile. “And 
as for the other matter, it is to you that Hildegarde owes 
much of her cheeriness. She will miss you terribly.” 

A silence fell between them which neither noticed, though 
it lasted some minutes. Overhead some one began to play 
the “Liebeslied” from the Walkure. 

Wolff looked up and found that his aunt’s eyes were fixed 
on him. 


72 ; 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Hildegarde?” he asked, and for the first time he felt 
conscious of a lack of candor. 

Frau von Arnim shook her head. 

“Poor Hildegarde never plays,” she reminded him gently. 
“It is Nora — Miss Ingestre. You remember her?” 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “She is not easily forgotten.” 
After a moment’s hesitation he added: “I never knew 
English people could be so charming. Those I have met on 
my travels have either been badly mannered boors or arro- 
gant pokers. Miss Ingestre is either an exception or a reve- 
lation.” 

The room was in part darkness, as Frau von Arnim loved 
it best. A small lamp burned on her table, and by its light 
she could study his face unobserved. 

“She has won all hearts — even to the coachman, who 
has a prejudice against foreigners,” she said in a lighter 
tone, “and Hildegarde has become another person since her 
arrival. I do not know what we should do without her. 
When she first came she was, of course, baked in her insular 
prejudices, but she is so open-minded and broad-hearted 
that they have fallen away almost miraculously. We have 
not had to suffer — as is so often the case — from volleys of 
Anglo-Saxon criticisms.” 

“She seems musical too,” Wolff said, who was still listen- 
ing with close attention to the unseen player. 

She is musical \ so much so that I am having her properly 
trained at the Conservatorium,” his aunt answered with en- 
thusiasm. “When she has got out of certain English man- 
nerisms she will do well. It is already a delight to listen to 
her.” 

A tide of warm color darkened Wolff’s face as he glanced 
quickly at Frau von Arnim’s profile. 

“I wonder what little pleasure — or perhaps necessity 


A DUET 


73 


you have denied yourself to perform that act of kindness?” 
he said. 

“Neither the one nor the other, lieber Junge. If I deny 
myself one pleasure to give myself another, it can hardly 
be counted as a denial, can it ? Besides, I believe her people 
are very badly off, and it is a shame that her talent should 
suffer for it. There! I am sure you want to go up-stairs. 
Run along, and let me write my letters.” 

Wolff laughed at the old command, which dated back 
to the time when he had worried her w T ith his boy’s escapades. 

“I’ll just glance in and tell Hildegarde my good luck,” 
he said, a little awkwardly. “I promised her I would let 
her know as soon as the news came.” 

“Do, dear Wolff.” 

She turned to her letters, and Arnim, taking advantage 
of her permission hurried out of the room and up-stairs. 

Hildegarde’s little boudoir was an inner room, divided 
off from the neighboring apartment by a heavy Liberty 
curtain. Governed by he knew not what instinct or desire, 
he stepped softly across and, drawing the hangings a little 
on one side, remained a quiet, unobserved spectator of the 
peaceful scene. 

Nora had left the Walkilre and had plunged into the 
first act of Tristan und Isolde. She played it with in- 
experience and after her own ideas, which were perhaps not 
the most correct, but the face alone, with its youth, its 
eagerness, its enthusiasm, must have disarmed the most 
captious critic. And Wolff von Arnim was by no means 
captious at that moment. Though he was listening, he 
hardly realized what she was playing, too absorbed in the 
pure pleasure which the whole picture gave him to think of 
details. He knew, for instance, that her dress was simple 
and pretty, but he could not tell afterward whether it was 


74 


DIVIDING WATERS 


blue or green or pink, or of no color at all ; he knew that he 
had never before found so much charm in a woman’s face, 
but he would have been hard put to describe exactly wherein 
that charm lay, or whether her features were regular or 
otherwise. He simply received an impression one that 
he found difficult to forget. 

A lamp had been placed on the top of the piano, and 
by its light the bright, wide-open eyes and eager fingers 
were finding their way through the difficult score. The 
rest of the room had been left in shadow. Arnim knew 
where his cousin was lying, but he did not look in her 
direction — perhaps he did not even think of her, so far did 
she lie outside the picture on which his whole interest was 
centered; and when the music died into silence, her voice 
startled him by its very unexpectedness. 

“Wolff, won’t you come in now?” she said. 

Was there pain or annoyance in her tone? Arnim could 
not be certain. The knowledge that she had seen him 
standing there was sufficiently disconcerting. When we are 
unobserved, we unconsciously drop the masks which the in- 
stinct of self-preservation forces us to assume in the presence 
even of our dearest, and our faces betray emotions or 
thoughts which we have, perhaps, not even acknowledged 
to ourselves. As he advanced into the room, Arnim won- 
dered uncomfortably how much the invalid’s quick eyes had 
seen and if there was, indeed, anything in his looks or 
actions which could have wounded her. 

“You must think my manners very bad,” he said in English 
as he greeted Nora, “but I knew if I came in you would stop 
playing, and that would have disappointed me and annoyed 
Hildegarde. You see, I know my cousin’s little foibles, and 
one is that she does not like being interrupted in anything. 
Is that not so, Hildegarde?” 


A DUET 


75 


“You are a privileged person,’’ she answered with a gentle 
smile on her pale face. “Still, I am glad you let Nora — 
Miss Ingestre — finish. She plays well, don’t you think?” 

“Splendidly — considering,” was the answer. 

Nora looked up. 

“Considering? That sounds a doubtful compliment.” 

“I mean English people as a rule have not much under- 
standing for dramatic music.” 

“Yes, they have!” Nora blazed out impulsively. 

“Have they?” 

Still seething with injured patriotism, she met the laughter 
in his eyes with defiance. Then her sense of humor got the 
better of her. 

“No, they haven’t,” she admitted frankly. 

“There, now you are honest! Have you tried Tristan 
for the first time?” 

Nora nodded. She had gone back to the piano and was 
turning over the leaves of the score with nervous fingers. 
For some reason which she never attempted to fathom, 
Wolff von Arnim’s entries into her life, seldom and fleeting 
as they had been hitherto, had always brought with them, a 
subtle, indescribable change in herself and in her surround- 
ings. There were times when she was almost afraid of him 
and welcomed his departure. Then, again, when he was 
gone she was sorry that she had been so foolish, and looked 
forward to their next meeting. 

“I have tried to read the first act before,” she said, “but 
it is so hard. I can make so little out of it. I am sure it 
all sounds poor and confused compared to the real thing.” 

“Your piano score is inadequate,” he said, coming to her 
side. “The duet arrangement is much better. Hildegarde 
and I used to play it together for hours.” 

Nora looked at him with wide-open eyes of wonder. 


76 


DIVIDING WATERS 


‘‘Can you play?” she asked, very much as though he 
had boasted of his flying abilities, so that he laughed with 
boyish amusement. 

“I play like a great many of us do,” he said, “sufficiently 
well to amuse myself. I have a piano in my quarters which 
I ill-treat at regular intervals. Do you remember how angry 
you used to get because I thumped so?” 

He had turned to the girl lying on the sofa, but she avoid- 
ed his frank gaze. 

“Yes,” she said. “It is not so long ago, Wolff.” And 
then, almost as though she were afraid of having betrayed 
some deeper feeling, she added quickly. “Couldn’t you two 
try over the old duets together? I should so like to hear 
them, and I am too tired to talk.” 

“Would you like to, Miss Ingestre?” 

“Very much — only you will find me dreadfully slow and 
stupid.” 

He hunted among an old bundle of music, and having 
found the required piece, he arranged it on the piano and 
prepared himself for the task with great gravity. 

“You must let me have the bass,” he said; “then I can 
thump without being so much noticed. I have a decided 
military touch. Hildegarde says I treat the notes as though 
they were recruits.” 

Nora played her part without nervousness, at first because 
she was convinced of her own superiority and afterward 
because he inspired her. His guidance was sure and firm, 
and when he corrected, it was not as a master but as a 
comrade seeking to give advice as to a common task. Her 
shyness and uneasiness with him passed away. Every bar 
seemed to make him less of a stranger, and once in a long 
rest she found herself watching the powerful, carefully 
kept hands on the keyboard with a curious pleasure, as 


A DUET 


77 


though they typified the man himself — strong, clean and 
honest. 

Thus they played through the whole of the first act, and 
when the last chord had been struck there was a long silence. 
It was as though both were listening to the echo of all that 
had gone before, and it was with an effort that Nora roused 
herself to speak. 

“How well you play !” she said under her breath. “And 
how grand — how wonderful it is!” 

He turned and looked at her. 

“Did you understand it?” 

“Not all. I feel that there are many more wonders to 
fathom which are yet too deep for me. But I understand 
enough to know that they are there — and to be glad.” 

“It is the noblest — most perfect expression of love and of 
human heart that was ever written or composed,” he said. 

She looked up at him, and their eyes met gravely and 
steadily for a moment, in which the world was forgotten. 

“Thank you very much,” a quiet voice said from the 
background. 

Arnim turned quickly, so quickly that it was almost a 
start. 

“Now for your criticism, Hildegarde !” he cried gaily. 
“I assure you, we are both trembling.” 

Hildegarde shook her head. 

“I cannot criticize,” she said. “You played so well to- 
gether, much better than when I was able to take my part.” 
She hesitated. “One could hardly believe that you had never 
practiced together before,” she added slowly. 

Nora rose and closed the piano. Without knowing why, 
the words pained her and the brief silence that followed 
seemed oppressive. 

Arnim followed her example. 


78 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I have been here a disgraceful time!” he exclaimed, 
looking at his watch. “And there ! I have never even told 
you what I really came about. I have been passed into the 
General Staff. What do you think of that? Are you not 
proud to have such a cousin?” 

His tone was gay, half teasing, but there was no response 
from the quiet figure on the sofa. Nora’s eyes, rendered 
suddenly sharp, saw that the pale lips were compressed as 
though in pain. 

“Of course, Wolff, I am so glad. It is splendid for you. 
How long will you be there — in Berlin, I mean?” 

“A long time, I expect, unless there is a war.” 

Then, as though by some intuition he knew what was 
passing in her mind, he came to her side and took her hand 
affectionately between his own. 

“You and the mother will have to come, too,” he said. “I 
have just been telling her that I can not get on without you. 
Imagine my lonely state ! It’s bad enough here, now that I 
have no one to ride out with me. Old Bruno is eating off 
his head in anticipation of the day when you will gallop him 
through the woods again.” 

Hildegarde shook her head, but his words, spoken hastily 
and almost at random, had brought the color to her cheeks. 

“I shall never ride again,” she said. 

She looked at her cousin and then to Nora, and her own 
wistful face became suddenly overshadowed. 

“But then,” she went on with a quick, almost inaudible 
sigh, “that is no reason why Bruno should eat his head off, 
as you say. It is true I can not ride him any more, but Miss 
Ingestre can, and it would do her good. Wouldn’t it, Nora?” 

Was there an appeal in her voice which both heard and 
understood ? Arnim said nothing. He did not take his eyes 
from his cousin’s face. 


A DUET 


79 


“It is really very good of you,” Nora said quickly, “but 
I think I had better not. You see, I love it so, and it is 
best not to encourage impossible tastes. Besides, I have no 
habit.” 

Warned, perhaps, by her own involuntary start of pleas- 
ure, by Arnim’s silence and Hildegarde’s voice, she had 
sought wildly for any reasonable excuse, and unwittingly 
chosen the one most likely to arouse the generous impulses 
in both her companions. 

“Whilst you are here you must enjoy everything you can 
get,” Arnim said, smiling at her. “And who knows what 
Fate has in store for you?” 

“And the habit is no difficulty,” Hildegarde chimed in. 
“You can have mine. We are about the same size, and it 
could easily be made to fit you. Do, dear !” 

She was now all enthusiasm for her own plan, and Nora, 
glancing at Arnim’s face, saw that it had become eager with 
pleasure. 

“Do !” he begged. “I should so like to show you all the 
woods about here. Or — can you not trust yourself to me?” 

A second time their eyes met. 

“Of course I should trust you,” Nora said quickly, “and 
there is nothing I should love more.” 

“Then that is settled. You must let me know the first 
day which suits you. Good-by, gnadiges Fraulein. Good- 
by, Hildegarde. I am sending my orderly round with some 
books I have found. I think you will like them.” 

“Thank you, Wolff.” 

Then, without another word, he was gone. They heard 
the door bang down-stairs, and the cheery clatter of his 
sword upon the stone steps. 

Nora came to the sofa and knelt down. 

“How good you are to me!” she said. “You are always 


80 


DIVIDING WATERS 


thinking of my pleasure, of things which you know I like, 
and, after all, it ought to be just the other way round.” 

“I am very fond of you,” Hildegarde answered in a low 
voice. “Though I know you so short a time, you ^re the 
only friend I really care for. It made me bitter to see 
other girls enjoy their life — but you are different. I don’t 
think I should grudge you — anything.” 

Her voice broke suddenly. She turned her face to the 
wall, and there was a long silence. Nora still knelt by the 
sofa. Her eyes were fixed thoughtfully in front of her, and 
there was an expression on her young face of wonder, almost 
of fear. Something new had come into her life. There was 
a change in herself of which she was vaguely conscious. 
What was it? What had brought it? Was it possible that 
in a mere glance something had passed out of her, something 
been received? She sprang restlessly to her feet, and as 
she did so a smothered, shaken sob broke upon the stillness. 
In an instant she had forgotten herself and her own troubled 
thoughts. She bent over the quivering figure and tried to 
draw away the hands that hid the tear-stained face. 

“Hildegarde — you are crying? What is it? What have 
I done?” 

“Nothing— nothing. It is only— I am so silly and weak 
— and the music — ” She broke off and looked up into 
Nora’s face with a pathetic, twisted smile. And then, seem- 
ing to yield to a passionate impulse, she flung her thin arms 
about her companion’s neck. “Oh, Nora, you are so pretty 
and good ! Every one must love you — and I love you so !” 

The words were an appeal, a confession, a cry breaking 
from an over-burdened heart. Nora drew the fair head 
against her shoulder, pitying and comforting a grief which 
she as yet but partly understood. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE AWAKENING 

F RAU VON ARNIM sat at the round breakfast table 
before a pile of open letters, which she took in turn, 
considered, and laid aside. Her expression was grave, and 
in the full morning light which poured in through the win- 
dow opposite she looked older, wearier than even those who 
knew her best would have thought possible. The world of 
Karlsburg was accustomed to regard the Oberhofmarshal’s 
widow as a woman of whom it would be safe to prophesy, 
“Age shall not wither her,” for, as far as her envious 
contemporaries could see, the years had drifted past and 
brought no change to the serene, proud face. Perhaps they 
would have admitted, on reflection, that their memories 
could not reach back to the time when Frau von Arnim had 
been a girl — that, as far as they knew, she had always been 
the same, always serene and proud, never youthful in the true 
sense of the word. And therein lay the paradoxical ex- 
planation for what was called her “eternal youth.” Magda 
von Arnim had never been really young. The storms had 
broken too early on her life and had frozen the overflowing 
spirits of her girlhood into strength and reserve, patience, 
and dignity. But she had not allowed them to embitter the 
sources of her humanity, and thus she retained in her later 
years what is best in youth — generosity, sympathy, a warm 
and understanding heart. 

Frau von Arnim put aside her last letter, and with her 
81 


82 


DIVIDING WATERS 


fine white hand shading her eyes remained in an attitude 
of deep thought, until the door of the breakfast-room 
opened. 

“Hildegarde !” she exclaimed, and then, quickly, pain- 
fully, “Why, how stupid of me? It is Nora, of course. 
Good morning, dear child. I must have been indulging in 
what you call a day-dream, for when you came in I thought 
it was really poor little Hildegarde grown well and strong 
again.” She held Nora at arm’s length. “I do not think 
the resemblance will ever cease to startle me. It is the riding- 
habit — though really you are quite, quite different.” 

She tried to laugh, but the hurried tone, the sudden color 
that had rushed to the usually pale cheeks betrayed to Nora 
the painful impression she had caused. They hurried her 
to a decision that had already presented itself to her before 
as something inevitable, something she must do if she were 
to be just and loyal. Time after time she had shrunk back 
as before some hard sacrifice, and now she felt she could 
shrink back no longer. 

“Gnadige Frau , I wanted to tell you — if you don’t mind, 
I will give up the riding. After to-day I don’t think I will 
go again. I think it better not.” 

“But— why?” 

It was now Nora’s turn to crimson with embarrassment. 
She was herself hardly clear as to her reasons. The night 
before she had played the second act of Tristan und Isolde 
with Wolff von x\rnim, and when it was at an end they had 
found Hildegarde lying in a sleep from which they could 
not at first awaken her, so close was it allied to another 
and graver state. And Wolff von Arnim had had a strange 
misery in his eyes. Such was the only explanation she 
knew of. She knew, too, that she could not give it. Never- 
theless, she held her ground desperately. 


THE AWAKENING 


83 


“Because I believe it hurts you, and if not you, at least 
Hildegarde,” she said at last'. “She cries sometimes when 
she thinks I shall not find out, and though she never owns 
to it, I know it is because I enjoy things she used to have 
and can not have. And, besides, it isn’t fair, it isn’t right. 
You have both been so good to me. You have treated me 
just as though I were a daughter of the house, and I have 
done nothing to deserve it. I have only caused Hildegarde 
pain, and that is what I do not want to do.” 

Frau von Arnim took her by the hand and drew her 
closer. A faint, rather whimsical smile played about the 
fine mouth. 

“Dear Nora, the fact that you are the daughter of the 
house proves that you deserve the best we can give you. 
Neither Hildegarde nor I are given to adopting relations 
promiscuously. And as for the other matter, anybody suf- 
fering as Hildegarde does is bound to have her moments of 
bitterness and regret — perhaps envy. Thank God, they are 
not many. In the first months I have known the sight of a 
child playing in the street to bring the tears to her eyes, and 
it is only natural that you, with your health and strength, 
should remind her of what she has lost. And there is an- 
other thing” — her manner became grave, almost emphatic 
— “a useless sacrifice is no sacrifice at all; it is simply flying 
in the face of a Providence who has given to one happiness, 
another sorrow. It will not make Hildegarde happy if 
you stay at home — on the contrary, she will blame herself 
— and you will deprive my nephew of a pleasure. There ! 
After that little lecture you must have your breakfast and 
read your letters. You have only half an hour before you 
start, and my nephew suffers from military punctuality in 
its most aggravated form.” 

Nora obediently made a pretense of partaking of the 


84 


DIVIDING WATERS 


frugal rolls and coffee. As a matter of fact, the prospect 
before her, but above all the two letters lying on her plate, 
had successfully driven away her appetite. The one envelope 
was addressed in her father’s spider-like hand, the other 
writing set her heart beating with uneasiness. At the first 
opportunity she opened her father’s bulky envelope and 
hurried over its contents. Sandwiched in between rhetorical 
outbursts of solemn advice, she extracted the facts that her 
mother was unusually out of health, that he was consequently 
distracted with worry and overburdened with work, that 
Miles had obtained sick leave and was enjoying a long rest 
in the bosom of the family, that the neighbors, Mrs. Clerk 
in particular, were both surprised and shocked at her, Nora’s, 
continued absence. “Home is not home without you,” the 
Rev. John had written pathetically. Then at the end of the 
letter had come the sting. There was a certain paragraph 
which Nora read twice over with heightened color and a 
pained line between the brows. 

“Dear child, you tell me that you are going out riding 
with a certain Herr von Arnim, your protectress’ nephew. 
Apart from the fact that an indulgence in pleasure which 
your family can no longer afford seems to me in itself un- 
fitting, I feel that there is more besides in the matter to 
cause me grave anxiety on your behalf. Herr von Arnim’s 
name occurs constantly in your letters; he appears to use 
his musical talent as an excuse to pay you constant attention ; 
you meet him at the theatre — which place, I must say in 
passing, you attend with what I fear must be a wholly de- 
moralizing frequency ; he lends you books, he instructs you 
in the German language. Now, my dear child, I myself 
have never met a German officer, but from various accounts 
I understand that they are men of a disorderly mode of life 
who would not hesitate to compromise a young, inexperienced 


THE AWAKENING 


85 


girl. Knowing, of course, that your affections do not come 
into question as regards a foreigner, I warn you not to allow 
yourself to become this man’s plaything. As his aunt’s 
dependent, he may no doubt think that you are fit game for 
his amusement. Remember that you are an English girl, 
and show him that as such you are too proud to play a de- 
grading role, and that you will have none of his attentions. 
Ah, Nora, I would that I were with you to watch over you! 
Oh that you were in a certain good man’s keeping !” 

Nora dropped the letter. Her cheeks burned with in- 
dignation. It was in this light, then, that her father judged 
Wolff von Amim’s grave, almost formal, courtesy, their in- 
nocent, straightforward friendship together! And yet, be- 
neath the indignation, new fears and doubts stirred to life. 
She did not attempt to analyze them. Impatiently, as though 
seeking to escape from all self-interrogation, she picked up 
the second letter and tore it open. It was from Arnold. 
Like the man, the handwriting was bold and clear, the 
sentences abrupt, sincere and unpolished. In a few lines he 
thanked her for her last letter, outlined the small events of 
his own life. He then plunged into the immediate future. 

“Unexpectedly, I have been granted a year’s leave to 
travel in Central Africa,” he had written. “You can under- 
stand that I shall be only too glad to get out of England 
and to have some active work outside of the usual military 
grind. I leave Southampton in two days’ time, so that you 
will not have time to answer this. In any case, I do not 
want you to hurry. I reach Aden on the 10th. That will 
give you time to consider what I am going to say. Hitherto 
I have been silent as to the matter that lies nearest my 
heart, but now I am going so far from you I must speak, 
Nora. I believe that one day you will become my wife. I 
believe that it is so destined, and I believe you know it as 


86 


DIVIDING WATERS 


well as I do. Our parting at Victoria convinced me, or at 
least gave me the greatest possible hope. I believe that if I 
had jumped into the carriage beside you and taken you in 
my arms, you would have yielded. I was a fool to have 
hesitated, but perhaps it is best that you should decide in 
cold blood. You know what I have to offer you — an honest, 
clean devotion, not the growth of a moment’s passion, but 
of years. I know you and I love and understand you — 
even to your faults. You know me, and whether you love 
me or not, you at least know that I am a man who never 
changes, who will be twenty years hence what he is to-day. 
Is this to be despised? Is not reciprocal trust and under- 
standing worth more than a shortlived passion? Nora, do 
not count it against me if I can not write to you eloquently, 
if I am poor in all the outward elegancies of speech and 
manner. I have no metaphors to describe my love to you ; no 
doubt I shall always fail in those graceful nothings which 
you seem to appreciate so much. I can only speak and act 
as a straightforward Englishman who offers a woman his 
honest love. For the second — but not the last time, if needs 
must be — will you be my wife? Consider well, dearest, and 
if you can, let me go into my exile with the blessed knowl- 
edge that in a short time — for I shall not wait a year — I 
may come and fetch you home. Nora . . .” 

Hoofs clattered impatiently in the street outside. The 
Arnims’ little maid opened the door and grinned with mys- 
terious friendliness. 

“Der Herr Hauptmann ist unten und wartet ” she said. 
“Gnadiges Fraulein mochten so fort kommen!” 

She spoke in a tone of command which her intense respect 
for “den Herrn Hauptmann” more than justified. Was 
not her “Schatz” in the Herr Hauptmann’s battery, and did 
not he say every Sunday, when they walked out together, 


THE AWAKENING 


87 


that the whole army did not contain a finer officer or a more 
“famoser Kerl ”? 

“Ich komme gleich” Nora answered. She thrust the half- 
read letter into the pocket of her loose-fitting coat and ran 
down-stairs. All the way she was thinking of Robert Arnold 
with a strange mingling of affection and pity. She thought 
how good and honest he was, and of the life of a woman 
who entrusted herself to his care — and then abruptly he 
passed out of her mind like a shadow dispersed by a broad, 
full ray of sunshine. Wolff von Arnim stood in the hall. 
His face was lifted to greet her, his hand outstretched. She 
took it. She tried to say something banal, something that 
would have broken the spell that had fallen upon her. Her 
lips refused to frame the words, and he too, did not speak. 
Side by side they went out into the cold morning air. The 
orderly stood waiting with the two horses. Arnim motioned 
him on one side, and with sure strength and gentleness lifted 
Nora into the saddle. 

“Are you comfortable?” he asked; and then, with a 
sudden change of tone, “Why, what is the matter? Did I 
hurt you? You are so pale.” 

Nora shook her head. 

“It is nothing — nothing. I am quite all right. I lost my 
breath — that is all. You lifted me as though I were a mere 
feather.” 

She tried to laugh, but instead bit her lip and looked 
down into his face with a curious bewilderment. He had 
not hurt her, and yet some sensation that was near akin to 
pain had passed like an electric current right to the center 
of her being. 

“I am quite all right,” she said again, and nodded as 
though to reassure him. “Please do not be so alarmed.” 


88 


DIVIDING WATERS 


To herself she thought, “What is the matter with me? 
What has happened?” 

These were the questions she asked herself incessantly as 
they walked their horses through the empty streets. She 
found no answer. Everything in her that had hitherto been 
was no more. All the old landmarks in her character, her 
confidence, her courage, her inexhaustible fund of life were 
gone, leaving behind them a revolution of unknown emotions 
whose sudden upheaval she could neither explain nor 
control. Her world had changed, but as yet it was a chaos 
where she could find no firm land, no sure place of refuge. 

They left the town behind them and walked their horses 
through the long allees of stately trees. Almost without 
their knowledge their conversation, broken and curiously 
strained as it was, dropped into silence. The deadened 
thud of their horses’ hoofs upon the soft turf was the only 
sound that broke the morning stillness, and the mists hanging 
low upon the earth, as yet undisturbed by the rising winter 
sun, intensified the almost ghostly forest loneliness. It was a 
loneliness that pierced like a cold wind through Nora’s 
troubled soul. Though they had ridden the same way before, 
at the same hour, surrounded by the same gray shadows, 
she had never felt as she felt now — that they, alone of 
the whole world, were alive and that they were together. 
The clang of the park gates behind them had been like a 
voice whose warning, jarring tones echoed after them in 
the stillness, “Now you are alone — now you are alone!” 
What was there in this loneliness and silence? Why did it 
suffocate, oppress her so that she would have been thankful 
if a sudden breeze had stirred the fallen leaves to sound 
and apparent life? Why had she herself no power to break 
the silence with her own voice? She glanced quickly at 
the man beside her. Did he also feel something of what 


THE AWAKENING 


89 


she was experiencing that he had become so silent ? Usually 
a fresh, vigorous gaiety had laughed out of his eyes to meet 
her. To-day he did not seem to know that she had looked 
at him, or even that she was there. His gaze was set reso- 
lutely ahead, his lips beneath the short fair mustache were 
compressed in stern, thoughtful lines which changed the 
whole character of his face, making him older, graver. 
Believing herself unobserved, even forgotten, Nora did not 
look away. She saw Arnim in a new light, as the worker, 
the soldier, the man of action and iron purpose. Every line 
of the broad-shouldered figure in the gray Litewka suggested 
power and energy, and the features, thrown into shadow 
by his officer’s cap, were stamped with the same virile char- 
acteristics translated into intellect and will. 

“What a man you are!” was the thought that flashed 
through Nora’s mind, and even in that moment he turned 
toward her. 

“It seems we are not the only ones out this morning,” 
he said quietly. “There is a rider coming toward us — 
Bauer, if I am not mistaken. Let us draw a little to one 
side.” 

She followed his guidance, at the same time looking in 
the direction which he had indicated. The mists were thin- 
ning, and she caught the flash of a pale-blue uniform, and 
a moment later recognized the man himself. 

“Yes, it is Lieutenant Bauer,” she said. 

The new-comer drew in his horse to a walk and passed 
them at the salute. Nora caught a glimpse of his face 
and saw there was an expression of cynical amusement which 
aroused in her all the old instinctive aversion. She stiffened 
in her saddle and the angry blood rushed to her cheeks. 

“I am glad he is not in your regiment,” she said im- 
pulsively. 


90 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Why, Miss Ingestre?” 

“Because I dislike him,” she answered. 

He did not smile at her blunt reasoning — rather, the 
unusual gravity in his eyes deepened. 

“I have no right to criticize a comrade,” he said ; “only I 
want you to remember that in a great army such as ours 
there must always be exceptions, men who have forced their 
way for the sake of position — idlers, cads and nonentities. 
There are not many, thank God, and they are soon weeded 
out, but I want you to believe that they are the exceptions.” 

“I do believe it,” she said gently. 

“Thank you.” He waited a moment and then added. 
“It is a great deal to me that you should think well of us.” 

“I could not well do otherwise,” she answered. 

“I am a foreigner.” The simple pronoun betrayed him, 
but Nora did not notice the change. She was gazing ahead, 
her brows knitted. 

“That does not seem to make much difference,” she said. 
“I used to think it would — only a few weeks ago. I must 
have been very young then. I am very young now, but not 
so young. One can learn more in an hour than in a life- 
time.” 

“It all depends on the hour,” he said, smiling. 

“No — I think each hour has the same possibilities. It 
all depends on oneself. If one has opened one’s heart — ” 
She left the sentence unfinished, her thoughts reverting sud- 
denly to her mother, and for a moment the man beside her 
was forgotten. But not for more than a moment. Then, 
with a shock, the consciousness of his presence aroused her, 
and she looked up at him. It was only his profile which 
she saw, but some subtle change in the bold outline and a 
still subtler change in herself quickened the beating of her 
heart. As once before that morning, she suffered an in* 


THE AWAKENING 


91 


explicable thrill of pain and wondered at herself and at the 
silence again closing in about them. It was a silence which 
had its source more in themselves than in their surrounding 
world, for when the thud of galloping hoofs broke through 
the deadening wall of mist they did not hear it, or heard it 
unconsciously and without recognition. Only when it grew 
to a threatening thunder did it arouse Arnim from his 
lethargy. He turned in his saddle, and the next instant 
caught Nora’s horse sharply to one side. 

“It is Bauer again!” he said. “Take care!” He had 
acted not an instant too soon. The shadow which he had 
seen growing out against the gray wall behind them be- 
came sharply outlined, and like a whirlwind swept past 
them, escaping the haunch of Nora’s horse by a hair’s- 
breadth. The frightened animal shied, wrenching the reins 
from Arnim’s grasp, and swerved across the narrow road- 
way. Whether she lost her nerve or whether in that moment 
she did not care Nora could not have said. The horse broke 
into a gallop, and she made no effort to check its dangerous 
speed. The rapid, exhilarating motion lifted her out of 
herself, the fresh, keen air stung color to her cheeks and 
awoke in her a flash of her old fearless life. 

“Ruhe! Ruhe!” she heard a voice say in her ear. “Ruhe!” 

But she paid no heed to the warning. Quiet ! That was 
what she most feared. It was from that ominous silence she 
was flying, and from the moment when it would reveal the 
mystery of her own heart. Rather than that silence, that 
revelation, better to gallop on and on until exhaustion 
numbed sensibility, hushed every stirring, unfathomed de- 
sire into a torpor of indifference ! She felt at first no fear. 
The power to check her wild horse had long since passed 
out of her hands, but she neither knew nor cared. She saw 
the forest rush by in a blurred, bewildering mist, and far 


92 


DIVIDING WATERS 


behind heard the muffled thunder of horse’s hoofs in hot 
pursuit. Rut she saw and heard as in some fantastic dream 
whose end lay in the weaving hands of an implacable 
Destiny. In that same dream a shadow crept up to her side, 
drew nearer till they were abreast; a grip of iron fell upon 
her bridle hand. Then for the first time she awoke and 
understood. And with understanding came fear. Her own 
grip upon the straining reins relaxed. She reeled weakly 
in the saddle, thinking, “This is indeed the end.” But the 
shock for which she dimly waited did not come. Instead, 
miraculously supported, she saw the mists clear and trees 
and earth and sky slip back to their places before her eyes. 
The world, which for one moment had seemed to be rushing 
to its destruction, stood motionless, and Nora found herself 
in the saddle, held there by the strength she would have 
recognized, so it seemed to her, even if it had caught her 
up out of the midst of death. Arnim’s face was bent close 
to hers, and its expression filled her with pity and a joy 
wonderful and inexplicable. 

“Wie haben Sie mir das anthun konnen ?” he stammered, 
and then, in broken, passionate English, “How could you? 
If anything had happened — do you not know what it would 
have meant to me?” With a hard effort he regained his 
self-possession and let her go. “You frightened me terribly,” 
he said. “I — I am sorry.” 

“You have saved my life,” she answered. “It is I who 
have to be sorry — that I frightened you.” 

She was smiling with a calm strangely in contrast to his 
painful but half-mastered agitation. The suspense of the 
last minutes was still visible in his white face, and the hand 
which he raised mechanically to his cap shook. 

“It was Bauer’s fault,” he said. “He rode like a mad- 


THE AWAKENING 


93 


man. I shall call him to account. We seem fated to cross 
each other.” 

“Then why call him to account — since it is Fate? After 
all, nothing has happened.” 

Had, indeed, nothing happened? She avoided his eyes, 
and the color died from her cheeks. 

“Let us go home,” he said abruptly. 

They walked their panting horses back the way they 
had come. As before, neither spoke. To all appearances 
nothing had changed between them, and yet the change 
was there. The sunlight had broken through the mists, the 
oppressive silence was gone, and life stirred in the long 
grasses, peered with wondering, timid eyes from amidst the 
shadows, where deer and squirrel and all the peaceful forest 
world watched and waited until the intruders had passed 
on and left them to their quiet. And in Nora’s heart also 
the sun had risen. The chaos had resolved itself into calm ; 
and though so long as the man with the pale, troubled face 
rode at her side she could give no account even to herself 
of the mysterious happiness which had come so suddenly 
and so strangely, she was yet content to wait and enjoy her 
present peace without question. 

Thus they passed out of the gates and through the busy 
streets, Arnim riding close to her side, as though to shield 
her from every possible danger. But the silence between 
them remained unbroken. It was the strangest thing of all 
that, though throughout they had scarcely spoken, more had 
passed between them than in all the hours of the gay and 
serious comradeship they had spent together. 

At the door of the Arnims’ house Wolff dismounted and 
helped Nora to the ground. And as they stood for a moment 
hand in hand, he looked at her for the first time full in the 
eyes. 


94 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I can not thank God enough that you are safe,” he said. 

She heard in his low voice the last vibrations of the storm, 
and the thought that it was her danger which had shaken 
this man from his strong self-control overwhelmed her so 
that she could bring no answer over her lips. She turned 
and ran into the house, into her own room, where she stood 
with her hands clasped before her burning face, triumphant, 
intoxicated, swept away on a whirlwind of unmeasured 
happiness. 

It is the privilege — the greatest privilege, perhaps — of 
youth to be swept away on whirlwinds beyond the reach of 
doubt and fear, and Nora was very young. Over the new 
world which had risen like an island paradise out of the 
chaos of the old, she saw a light spread out in ever-widening 
circles till it enveloped her whole life. For Nora the child, 
was dead, the woman in her had awakened, because she loved 
for the first time and knew that she was loved. 

It was a moment of supreme happiness, and, as such 
moments needs must be if our poor mortal hearts are to be 
kept working, shortlived. Even as her eager, listening ears 
caught the last echo of horses’ hoofs outside, some one 
knocked at the door. 

“Fraulein Nora, please come at once,” a servant’s voice 
called. “The Fraulein Hildegarde has been taken very 
ill, and she is asking for you.” 

“I am coming,” Nora answered mechanically. 

Her hands had fallen to her side. The whirlwind had 
dropped her, as is the way with whirlwinds, and she stood 
there pale and for the moment paralyzed by the shock and 
an undefined foreboding. 


CHAPTER IX 

RENUNCIATION 

F RAU VON ARNIM was waiting at the door of Hilde- 
garde’s bedroom. In the half light Nora saw only 
the dim outline of the usually grave and composed face, 
but the hand that took hers betrayed more than the brightest 
searchlight could have done. It was icy cold, steady, but 
with something desperate in its clasp. 

“Nora, are you accustomed to people who are very ill?” 
“My mother is often ill/’ Nora answered, and the fear 
at her heart seemed to pass into her very blood. “But surely 
Hildegarde — it is not serious?” 

Frau von Arnim shook her head. 

“I do not know,” she said. “She fainted suddenly, and 
since then she has been in a feverish state which I do not 
understand. Poor little Hildegarde!” 

She spoke half to herself, quietly, almost doldly. Only 
Nora, strung to that pitch of sensitiveness where the very 
atmosphere seems to vibrate in sympathy, knew all the stifled 
pain, the infinite mother-tenderness which the elder woman 
cloaked behind a stern reserve. And because the best of 
human hearts is a complicated thing answering at once to 
a dozen cross-influences, Nora’s pity was intensified by the 
swift realization that even her wonderful new happiness 
might be struck down in an hour, a minute, as this woman’s 
had been. 


95 


96 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Let me look after her,” she pleaded. “I can be such a 
good nurse. I understand illness — and I love Hildegarde.” 

Something like a smile relaxed Frau von Arnim’s set 
features. The words had been so girlish in their enthusiasm 
and self-confidence. 

“I know,” she said, “and Hildegarde loves you. She 
has been asking after you ever since she recovered con- 
sciousness. Let us go in.” 

She opened the door softly and led the way into the 
silent room. The blinds had been drawn down, and the 
great four posted bed loomed up grim and immense at the 
far end, seeming to swallow up the frail, motionless figure 
in its shadow. 

Nora tiptoed across the heavy carpet. 

“Hildegarde,” she whispered, “are you better?” 

The closed eyes opened full and looked at her. 

“Yes, I am better. It is nothing. I fainted — only a little 
time after you had gone — and since then I have not been 
well.” She stopped, her gaze, curiously intense and stead- 
fast, still fixed on Nora’s face. Her sentences had come in 
jerks in a rough, dry voice. She now stretched out her 
hand and caught Nora’s arm. 

“You enjoyed your ride!” she whispered. “Nothing 
happened?” 

Troubled by the steady eyes and the feverish clasp, which 
seemed to burn through to her very bone, Nora answered 
hastily and with a forced carelessness. 

“Nothing very much. Bruno bolted with me in the 
woods, and I do not know what might have happened if 
Herr von Arnim had not come to my rescue. It was all 
my fault.” 

Hildegarde turned her flushed face a little on one side. 

“I knew something had happened,” she said almost to 


RENUNCIATION 


97 


herself. “It all came over me when I fainted. I knew 
everything.” 

Nora made no answer. She was thankful for the half 
light, thankful that the large, dark eyes had closed as 
though in utter weariness. They had frightened her, just 
as the conclusive “I know everything” had done by their 
inaudible mysterious knowledge. “And even if you do know 
everything,” she thought, “why should I mind? — why should 
I be afraid?” Nevertheless, fear was hammering at her 
heart as she turned away. Frau von Arnim took her by 
the hand. 

“She seems asleep,” she whispered. “Let us leave her 
until the doctor comes. Then we shall know better what 
to do.” 

It was as though she had become suddenly anxious to get 
Nora away from the sick girl’s bedside, and Nora yielded 
without protest. She felt that Hildegarde’s need of her 
had passed; that she had indeed only waited to ask that 
one question, “Did anything happen?” before sinking into 
a feverish stupor. Silent, and strangely sick at heart, Nora 
followed Frau von Arnim from the room into the passage. 
There the elder woman took the troubled young face between 
her hands and kissed it. 

“Hildegarde loves you,” she said gravely. “I perhaps 
know best how much; but she has lost a great deal that 
makes life worth living, Nora, and sometimes bitterness 
rises above every other feeling. When that happens you 
must have pity and understanding. You must try and 
imagine what it would be like if you lost health and 
strength — ” She stopped short, but Nora, struggling 
with the hard, painful lump in her throat, did not notice 
the break. She saw only in the sad eyes the same appeal 
that had met her on the first evening, “Be pitiful!” and, 


98 


DIVIDING WATERS 


obeying an irresistible impulse, she put her arms about Frau 
von Arnim’s neck in an outburst of conflicting feeling. 

“I do understand !” she cried brokenly. “And I am so 
dreadfully sorry. I would do anything to help her — to 
make her happy !” 

“I know you would, dear Nora; but that is not in your 
power or mine. She must learn happiness out of herself, 
as soon or late we all must do. We can only wait and be 
patient.” 

They said no more, but they kept together, as people do 
who find an instinctive consolation in each other’s presence. 
An hour later the doctor arrived. He pronounced high 
fever, apparently without any direct cause, and ordered 
quiet and close watching. 

“So far, it seems nothing serious,” he said, with a thought- 
ful shake of the head, “but she is delicate and over-sensi- 
tive. Every mental excitement will work inevitably upon 
her health. She must be spared all trouble and irritation.” 

According to his suggestion, Frau von Arnim and Nora 
shared the task of watching in the sick-room. There was 
nothing for them to do, for Hildegarde lay inert and silent, 
apparently unconscious of their presence, and the hours 
slipped heavily past. At ten o’clock Nora took up her post. 
She had slept a little, and the dark rings beneath Frau von 
Arnim’s eyes caused her to say gently: 

“You must rest as long as you can. I am not tired. I 
could watch all night.” 

Frau von Arnim shook her head. 

“I will come again at twelve,” she said, with a faint 
smile. “Youth must have its sleep, and I shall be too 
anxious to be away long.” 

The door closed softly, and Nora was left to her lonely 
vigil. She stood for a moment in the center of the room, 


RENUNCIATION 


99 


overcome by a sudden uneasiness and fear. She had watched 
before, but never before had the silence seemed so intense, 
the room so full of moving shadows. Except for the re- 
flection from the log fire and the thin ray of a shaded night- 
light, the apartment was in darkness, but to Nora’s excited 
imagination the darkness was alive and only the outstretched 
figure beneath the canopy dead. The illusion was so strong 
that she crept closer, listening with beating heart. There 
was no sound. For one sickening moment it seemed as 
though her fear had become a reality — then a stifled sigh 
broke upon the stillness. Hildegarde stirred restlessly, and 
again there was silence, but no longer the same, no longer 
so oppressive. Death was as yet far off, and, relieved and 
comforted, Nora drew an armchair into the circle of fire- 
light. From where she sat she could observe every move- 
ment of her charge without herself changing position, and 
for some time she Avatched anxiously, self-forgetful in the 
fulfillment of her duty. But then the fascination of the 
glowing logs drew her eyes away, and almost without her 
knowledge her thoughts slipped their leash and escaped 
from the gloomy room with its atmosphere of pain, out 
into the forest, back to the moment when life had broken 
out into full sunshine and happiness such as she had never 
known, and love incomparable, irresistible, swept down upon 
her and bore her with them into a new paradise. Who shall 
blame her if she saw in the bright flames not Hildegarde’s 
pale, suffering face, but the features of the man who had 
wrought in her the great miracle which occurs once, surely, 
in every woman’s life? Who shall blame her if a half-read 
letter and its writer were forgotten, or, if remembered, only 
with a tender pity such as all good women must feel for 
honest failure? And in that pity there was mingled a 
certain wonder at herself that she could ever have supposed 


100 


DIVIDING WATERS 


her feeling for Robert Arnold to be love. What was the 
childish regret at parting, the casual affection for an old 
comrade, blown to a warmer glow by the first harsh winds 
of exile, compared to this — this wonderful Thing which in 
an instant had revealed to her the possibility of a union 
where the loneliness, conscious or unconscious, surrounding 
each individual life is bridged and the barriers between 
mind and mind, heart and heart, are burnt down by the 
flames of a pure and noble passion? Poor Arnold! It was 
well for him that he could not know what was passing in 
Nora’s mind nor see her face as she gazed into the fire. He 
might then have wished that his letter, with its bold self- 
confidence, had never been written. For the glow upon the 
young features was not all fire-shine, the starlight in the 
dreamy eyes not all reflected gleams from the burning logs 
upon the hearth. Both had their birth within, where the 
greatest of all human happiness had been kindled — but not 
by Arnold’s hand. 

Thus half an hour, and then an hour, slipped past. Lulled 
by her thoughts and the absolute quiet about her, N ora sank 
into a doze. The firelight faded into the distance, and half- 
dreaming, half-waking, she drifted into a chaotic world of 
fancies and realities. She dreamed at last that some one 
called her by name. She did not answer, and the call grew 
louder, more persistent. It seemed to drag her against her 
will back to full sensibility, and with a violent start Nora’s 
eyes opened, and she knew that the voice had not been part 
of her dreams, but that Hildegarde was calling her with mo- 
notonous reiteration. 

“Nora! Nora!” 

“Yes, I am here. What is it?” 

Nora drew softly to the bedside and took the outstretched 
hand in hers. It burnt, as though the feverish sparkle in 


RENUNCIATION 


101 


the wide-opened eyes was but a signal of an inner devouring 
fire, and there was something, too, in the feeble smile which 
hurt Nora by reason of its very piteousness. 

“I ought not to have disturbed you,” Hildegarde said in a 
dry whisper. “It was selfish of me, but you looked so happy 
that I thought you could spare me a moment. I have been 
so frightened.” 

“Frightened, dear? Of what?” 

“I do not know — of myself, I think.” 

She turned her fair head restlessly on the pillow, as though 
seeking to retrace some thought, and then once more she 
lifted her eyes to Nora. They seemed unnaturally large in 
the half darkness, and their expression strangely penetrating. 
Nevertheless, when she spoke again Nora felt that they 
sought rather to convey a message than to question. 

“Nora, you will laugh at me — I want to know, have I been 
talking — in my sleep, I mean ?” 

“No.” 

“I am glad.” Again the same half-pleading, half -fright- 
ened smile played about the colorless lips. “I have been 
having such mad dreams — not bad dreams — only so — so un- 
true, so unreal. I should not have liked you to know them. 
You might have thought — ” She stopped, and her clasp 
tightened. “You know how I love you, don’t you, Nora?” 

“Yes, I think so — more than I deserve.” 

“Not as much, but still, very dearly. That was what I 
wanted to tell you. It seems foolish — in the middle of the 
night like this; but I was so afraid you would not under- 
stand. You do, though, don’t you?” 

“Of course.” Nora spoke soothingly, but with a dim 
knowledge that she had not wholly understood. There was, 
indeed, a message in those broken sentences, but one to which 
she had no key. 


102 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“You have been good to me,” Hildegarde went on rapidly. 
“Though you possess all that makes life worth living, you 
have not jarred on me with your wealth. You have not tried 
to comfort me with the truism that there are others more 
suffering than I — such a poor sort of comfort, isn’t it? As 
though it made me happy to think that more suffering was 
possible — inevitable! When I am ill, I like to think that I 
am the exception — that the great law of life is happiness. 
And you are life and happiness personified, Nora, and so I 
love you. I love you so that I grudge you nothing — shall' 
never grudge you anything. That is — what — I want — you 
to understand !” The last words came like a sigh, and there 
was a long silence. The earnest eyes had closed, and she 
seemed to sleep. Nora knelt down by the bedside, still hold- 
ing the thin white hand between her own, and so remained 
until, overcome by weariness, her head sank on to the cover- 
let. Half an hour passed, and then suddenly a rough move- 
ment startled her from her dreams. Again she heard her 
name called, this time desperately, wildly, as though the 
caller stood at the brink of some hideous chasm. 

“Nora! Nora!” 

Nora made no answer. She stumbled to her feet and stood 
half-paralyzed, looking at the features which in an instant 
had undergone so terrible a change. Hildegarde sat bolt 
upright. Her hair was disordered, her eyes, gleaming out 
of the ashy face, were fixed on the darkness behind Nora 
with a terrible entreaty in their depths. 

“Nora! Nora ! what have you done?” 

Nora recovered herself with an effort. Usually strong 
of nerve, there was something in the voice, in the words, 
which terrified her. 

“Hildegarde, what do you mean? What is the matter?” 

“Oh, Nora, Nora, what have you done?” 


RENUNCIATION 


103 


The voice had sunk to a moan so piteous, so wretched, 
that Nora forgot the cold fear which for a moment held her 
paralyzed. She tried to press the frail figure gently back 
among the pillows. 

“Dear, I don’t know what you mean. But you must lie 
quiet. To-morrow you can tell me everything — ” 

Hildegarde pushed her back and put her hand wildly to 
her head. 

“Of course, you can’t help it. You don’t even know. How 
should you? A cripple — you would never even think of it. 
Nobody would — they would laugh at me or pity me. Wolff 
pities me now — but not then. Oh, Wolff ! Wolff !” 

The name burst from the dry lips in a low cry of pain. 
Hitherto she had spoken in English ; she went on in German, 
but so clearly and with such vivid meaning in tone and ges- 
ture that Nora, cowering at the foot of the bed, felt that she 
would have understood had it been in some dead, unknown 
language. 

“Wolff, how good you are to me! Shall w*e gallop over 
there to the bridge ? How splendid it is to be alive, isn’t it ? 
Yes, of course, I shall keep the supper waltz for you, if you 
really want it. We always have such fun together. Look ! 
There is the Kaiser on the brown horse ! And Wolff is lead- 
ing the battery with Seleneck ! How splendid he looks ! Oh, 
Wolff! Wolff!” 

Again the old cry, vibrating with all the unspoken love 
and pride and happiness which the short, disjointed sen- 
tences had but indicated ! They had painted for the dazed, 
heart-stricken listener vivid pictures from the past — the long, 
joyous gallops over the country, the brilliant ballroom, 
the parade, all the laughter, the music, the lights, and chiv- 
alresque clash of arms — but in that one name a life had been 


104 DIVIDING WATERS 

revealed, the inner life of a girl ripening to a pure and loving 
woman. 

The tears burned Nora’s eyes. Every word that fell from 
the delirious lips struck a deeper, more fatal blow at her own 
happiness, yet she could not have fled, could not have stopped 
her ears against their message. 

“You must work hard, Wolff,” the voice went on, sunk to 
a sudden gentleness. “Perhaps one day you will do some- 
thing wonderful — something that will help to make us the 
greatest country in the world. How proud we shall be of 
you ! I am proud already ! Steady, Bruno ! How wild you 
are this morning ! One last gallop ! Oh, Wolff, don’t look 
like that! It is nothing — nothing at all! Only my back 
hurts. Am I not too heavy? You are so strong.” And 
then, with a smothered exclamation of anguish: “Wolff, 
the doctor says I shall never ride again!” 

A long, unbroken silence. The young, suffering face had 
grown gray and pinched. There were lines about the mouth 
which made it look like that of an old woman. A log fell 
with a crash into the fireplace. The voice went on, toneless, 
expressionless : 

“How the light shines on her face ! She is so pretty, and 
she can walk and ride. She is not half dead, like I am. No 
wonder he stands and watches her! Wolff, why do you 
stand there? Why do you look like that? Won’t you come 
and sit by me? No, no, why should you? It is better so. 
You play well together. Tristan und Isolde — I wonder if it 
is Fate. They have gone out riding. I am glad. I wished 
it. When one is a cripple one must conquer oneself. I can 
see them riding through the park gates. They look splendid 
together — so handsome and young and strong. Now they 
are galloping. Oh, my God, my God ! Nora, what are you 


RENUNCIATION 


105 


doing? Something has happened! Oh, Wolff, Wolff! I 
know — I know you love her I” 

The voice, which had risen from note to note as though 
urged by some frightful tumult of fear, now sank to silence. 
Hildegarde fell back among the pillows. With that final 
tragic recognition her mind seemed once more to be shrouded 
in oblivion. The look of agony passed from her features. 
She was young again, young and beautiful and at peace. 

Nora stumbled. She would have fallen at the bedside had 
not a hand, seeming to stretch out of the darkness, caught 
her and held her. It was Frau von Arnim. How long she 
had been there Nora could not tell. She felt herself being 
drawn gently but firmly away. 

“Go to your room, Nora. Lie down and sleep. I should 
never have left you. Poor child !” 

In the midst of her grief the tones of deep, generous pity 
awoke in Nora’s heart a strange awe and wonder. She did 
not dare meet Frau von Arnim’s eyes. It was as though she 
knew she would see there a tragedy greater than her own. 
She crept from the room, leaving mother and daughter alone. 

“Nora, Nora, what have you done?” 

The words followed her; they rang in her ears as she 
flung herself down by her table, burying her face in her 
arms in a passion of despair. 

“What have I done?” she asked again and again. And 
all that was generous and chivalrous in her answered : 

“She loved you, and you have stolen her one happiness 
from her. You are a thief. You have done the crudest, 
meanest thing of your life.” 

Justice protested : 

“How could you have known? You did not even know 
that you loved, or were loved — not till this morning.” 


106 


DIVIDING WATERS, 


Then the memory of that morning, that short-lived happi- 
ness already crumbled and in ruins, swept over her and bore 
down the last barriers of her self-control. Poor Nora! She 
sobbed as only youth can sob face to face with its first great 
grief, desperately, unrestrainedly, believing that for her at 
least, life and hope were at an end. Another less passionate, 
less governed by emotion, would have reasoned, “It is not 
your fault. You need not suffer !” Nora only saw that, wit- 
tingly or unwittingly, she had helped to heap sorrow upon 
sorrow for a being who had shown her only kindness and 
love. She had brought fresh misfortune where she should 
have brought consolation; she had dared to love where she 
had no right to love ; she had kindled a love in return which 
could only mean pain — perhaps worse — to those who had 
given her their whole trust and affection. She had done 
wrong, and for her there was only one punishment — atone- 
ment by renunciation. 

The gray winter dawn crept into the little bedroom, and 
Nora still sat at her table. She was no longer crying. Her 
eyes were wide open and tearless. Only an occasional shud- 
der, a rough, uneven sigh, told of the storm that had passed 
over her. As the light grew stronger she took up a crumpled 
letter and read it through, very slowly, as though each word 
cost her an effort. When she had finished she copied an 
address on to an envelope and began to write to Robert Ar- 
nold. Her hand shook so that she had to tear up the first 
sheet and begin afresh, and even then the words were scarcely 
legible. Once her courage almost failed her, but she pulled 
herself back to her task with a pathetic tightening of the lips. 

“I know now that I do not love you,” she wrote. “I know, 
because I have been taught what love really is; but if you 
will take me with the little I have to give, I will be your 
wife.” 


RENUNCIATION 


107 


And with that she believed that she had raised an insur- 
mountable barrier between herself and the love which fate 
had made sinful. 


CHAPTER X 


YOUTH AND THE BARRIER 

I T was Hildegarde’s birthday. The N ovember sunshine 
had come out to do her honor, and in every corner of her 
room rich masses of winter flowers rejoiced in the cold 
brightness which flooded in through the open window. Hil- 
degarde herself lay on the sofa, where the light fell strongest. 
The two long weeks in which she had hung between life 
and death had wrought curiously little change in her, and 
what change there was lay rather in her expression than in 
her features. Her cheeks were colorless, but she had always 
been pale, and the ethereal delicacy which had become a 
very part of herself, and which seemed to surround her with 
an atmosphere of peaceful sanctity, was more spiritual than 
physical. Nora, who stood beside her, watching the sunlight 
as it made a halo of the fair hair, could not think of her as 
a suffering human being. It was surely a spirit that lay 
there, with the bunch of violets clasped in the white hands 
— a spirit far removed from all earthly conflict, upheld by 
some inner strength and softened by a grave, serene wisdom. 
And yet, Nora knew, it was only an heroic “seeming.” She 
knew what pictures passed before the quiet eyes, what emo- 
tions lay hidden in the steady-beating heart, what pain the 
gentle lips held back from utterance. Admiration, pity, and 
love struggled in Nora’s soul with the realization of her own 
loss and the total ruin of her own happiness. “But I have 
done right,” she repeated to herself, with a kind of desperate 

108 


YOUTH r AND THE BARRIER 


109 


defiance, “and one day, if you are happy, it will be because 
I also brought my sacrifice in silence.” It was her one con- 
solation — a childish one enough, perhaps — the conviction 
that she had done right. It -was the one thing which upheld 
her when she thought of the letter speeding to its destination 
and of the fate she had chosen for herself. But it had not 
prevented the change with which grief and struggle mark the 
faces of the youngest and the bravest. 

Down below in the street the two quiet listeners heard 
the tramp of marching feet which stopped beneath their win- 
dow, and presently a knock at the door heralded a strange 
apparition. A burly under-officer in full dress stood saluting 
on the threshold. 

“The regiment brings Gnadiges Fraulein its best wishes 
for her birthday,” he thundered, as though a dozen luckless 
recruits stood before him. “The regiment wishes Gnadiges 
Fraulein health and happiness, and hopes that she will ap- 
prove of the selection which has been made.” He advanced 
with jingling spurs and held out a sheet of paper, which 
Hildegarde accepted with a gentle smile of thanks. 

“It is a nice programme, isn’t it?” she said, as she handed 
the list to Nora. “All my favorites.” 

“It was the Herr Hauptmann who told us what Gnadiges 
Fraulein liked,” the gruff soldier said, still in an attitude of 
rigid military correctness. “The Herr Hauptmann will be 
here himself before long. He commanded me to tell 
Gnadiges Fraulein. ” 

“Thank you, Huber — and thank the regiment for its good 
wishes. Afterward — when the concert is over — well, you 
know what is waiting for you and your men in the kitchen.” 

He bowed stiffly over her extended hand. 

“Danke, Gnadiges Fraulein” He strode back to the 


110 


DIVIDING WATERS 


door, and then turned and hesitated, his weather-beaten face 
a shade redder. 

“The regiment will lose the Herr Hauptmann soon,” he 
said abruptly. 

“Yes, Huber. And then what will you do?” 

‘ “Go, too, Gnddiges Frdulein. I have served my country 
many years, and when the Herr Hauptmann leaves the regi- 
ment I have had enough. One gets old and stiff, and the 
time comes when one must take off the helmet.” 

“That is true, Huber.” 

Still he hesitated. 

“And Gnddiges Frdulein — 2” 

“I, Huber?” 

ef Gnddiges Frdulein will go with the Herr Hauptmann?” 

A deep wave of color mounted the pale cheeks. 

“It is possible we may go to Berlin for a few months.” 

“Ja, ja, for a few months !” He laughed, and his laugh 
was like the rumble of distant thunder. “It is well, Gnddiges 
Frdulein ; it is well.” Then suddenly he stiffened, growled 
an “Empfehle mich gehorsamst” and was gone. 

* Hildegarde bowed her head over the violets and there was 
a long silence. Then she too, laughed so gaily that Nora 
forgot herself and looked at her in wondering surprise. 

“He is such a strange old fellow,” Hildegarde explained. 
“Wolff calls him his nurse. Once in the maneuvers he saved 
Wolff’s life, and ever since then he has attached himself to 
the family, and looks upon us all more or less as his children. 
He is never disrespectful, and so we allow him his little idio- 
syncrasies. One of his pet ideas is that Wolff should marry 
me.” 

Nora repressed a start. What strange thing was this that 
Hildegarde should speak so lightly, so carelessly, of the 
tragic loss overshadowing both their lives? 


YOUTH AND THE BARRIER 


111 


“I think it would quite break his heart if we disappointed 
him,” Hildegarde added quietly. “Is it not amusing?” 

“Amusing?” Nora’s hand gripped the back of the sofa. 
“I do not see why it should be amusing — it is natural. Of 
course” — she struggled to overcome the roughness in her 
voice — “every one sees how much your — your cousin cares 
for you.” 

Again the same easy laugh answered her. 

“Why, Nora, you are as bad as our military matchmaker! 
Of course, Wolff is fond of me, just as I am of him. We are 
like brother and sister; but marriage — that is quite another 
matter. I am afraid I could never bring myself to marry a 
man whose heart-affairs I have known ever since he was an 
absurd little cadet.” 

Nora pushed the hair from her forehead. She felt as 
though the ground had suddenly been torn from under her 
feet. Every resolution, every principle, the very spirit of 
sacrifice to which she had clung, had been shaken by those 
few simple words. Had she dreamed, then, that night when 
delirium had broken open the innermost sanctuary of Hilde- 
garde’s heart? Had it all been a wild fancy, and was this 
the truth? Or — She looked full into the face raised to 
hers. There was a quiet merriment in the steady eyes — a 
merriment which yielded gradually to concern, but there was 
no sign of pain, no trace of struggle. It was impossible to 
believe that those eyes held their secret, or that the smiling 
lips had once uttered a cry of the greatest human agony. 
Yes, it was impossible, and if impossible, why, then — Nora 
could think no further. She turned and walked mechan- 
ically to the window. The military band had begun the 
wedding-march out of Lohengrin, but for her it was no more 
than a confused sound beating against her brains. She heard 
the house-gate click, and saw a well-known figure slowly 


112 


DIVIDING WATERS 


mount the steps, but she could not rouse herself to speak or 
think. She stood stunned and helpless, knowing nothing of 
the pitying eyes that watched her. In those moments a faint 
change had come over Hildegarde von Arnim’s features. 
The smile had died, and in its place had come a grave peace 
— a peace such as *is given sometimes with renunciation. 
Then her eyes closed and she seemed to sleep, but her hands 
held fast to the purple violets, and the sunlight falling upon 
the quiet face revealed a line that is also renunciation’s 
heritage. 

Meanwhile Wolff von Arnim had entered the state draw- 
ing-room, whither the little housemaid, overwhelmed by the 
plumes and glittering epaulettes, had considered fit to con- 
duct him. It was the one spot in the whole house which 
Frau von Arnim had not been able to stamp with her own 
grace and elegance. The very chairs seemed to have entered 
into a conspiracy to appear stiff, and stood in comfortless, 
symmetrical order, and the fire smouldering upon the hearth 
coqld do nothing against the chill atmosphere of an unloved 
and seldom inhabited dwelling-room. 

Arnim went straight to the window. It was as though his 
surroundings pressed upon him with an intolerable burden, 
and he remained staring sightlessly out into the gray morning 
until the quiet opening of a door told him that he was no 
longer alone. Even then he did not at once turn. Only the 
slight convulsive tightening of the hand upon the sword-hilt 
betrayed that he had heard, and Frau von Arnim had almost 
reached his side before he swung round to greet her. 

“Aunt Magda !” he exclaimed. 

She gave him her hand, and he bent over it — remained so 
long with his head bowed that it seemed a conscious prolong- 
ation of the time before their eyes must meet. 

“I hardly expected you this afternoon,” she said gently, 


YOUTH AND THE BARRIER 


113 


“certainly not in such grande tenue. Are you on special 
duty?” 

He did not answer at once. He stood looking at her with 
a curiously absent expression. 

“I came to ask after Hildegarde,” he said. “Is she bet- 
ter?” 

“Yes, much better — still very weak, of course. A fever 
like that is not quickly forgotten.” 

She had slipped her arm through his and led him to the 
sofa before the fire. 

“The violets you sent are most beautiful,” she went on. 
“They gave Hildegarde so much pleasure. She asked me to 
thank you for them.” 

He sat down beside her and for a moment was silent, gaz- 
ing into the fire. 

“Aunt Magda,” he then began abruptly, “you have never 
told me what it was that caused Hildegarde’s illness — nor 
even what was the matter with her. I — I want to know.” 

A rather weary smile passed over Frau von Arnim’s lips. 

“Illness with Hildegarde is never far off, liber Junge” 
she said. “She is like an ungarrisoned castle exposed to the 
attack of every enemy. The least thing — something which 
leaves you and me unharmed — throws her off her balance, no 
one knows how or why.” 

“And she was once so strong!” he said, half to himself. 
“Nothing could tire her, and she was never ill — never.” 

“Wolff, there is no good in remembering what was and 
can never be again.” 

“Never?” he queried. 

“Not so far as we can see.” 

His strongly marked brows knitted themselves in pain. 

“Would to God it had all happened to me !” he broke out 
impulsively. “Then it would not have been so bad.” 


114 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“It would have been much worse,” Frau von Arnim an- 
swered. “Women suffer better than men, Wolff. It is one of 
their talents. After a time, Hildegarde will find consolation 
where you would only have found bitterness.” 

“After a time!” he repeated. “Then she is not happy? 
Poor Hildegarde !” 

“Even women can not learn patience and resignation in 
a day.” 

He sprang up as though inactivity had become unbearable. 

“Aunt Magda — if she is strong enough — I want to see 
Hildegarde.” 

“Why?” 

Involuntarily their eyes met in a quick flash of under- 
standing. 

“Because I think that it is time for our relationship to 
each other to be clearly settled,” he said. “Ever since our 
childhood it has been an unwritten understanding that if 
Hildegarde would have me we should marry ; and so I have 
come to ask her — if she will be my wife.” 

He spoke bluntly, coldly, not as he had meant to speak, 
but the steady gaze on his face shook his composure. 

“Have you the right to ask her that?” 

“Aunt Magda!” 

“Or, after all, have you been playing with the affections 
of a girl who has the right to my protection?” 

“Aunt Magda — that is not true — that — ” 

He stopped short, pale with agitation, his lips close com- 
pressed on the hot words of self -vindication. 

For a minute Frau von Arnim waited as though giving 
him time to speak, and then she went on quietly : 

“Wolff, we Arnims are not fond of charity. We prefer to 
eat our hearts in silence rather than be objects of the world’s 
pity. And Hildegarde is like the rest of us. She will not 


YOUTH AND THE BARRIER’ 


115 


ask for your sympathy nor your care nor your devotion. She 
will ask you for your whole heart. Can you give her that?” 

He made a gesture as though about to give a hasty answer, 
but her eyes stopped him. 

“I — love Hildegarde,” he stammered. “We have been 
friends all our lives.” 

“Friends, Wolff ! I said ‘your whole heart.’ ” 

And then he saw that she knew; and suddenly the tall, 
broad-shouldered man dropped down, sword-clattering, at 
her side and buried his face in his hands. The smile in Frau 
von Arnim’s eyes deepened. So he had done in the earlier 
days when youthful scrapes and disappointments had sent 
the usually proud, reserved boy to the one unfailing source 
of understanding and consolation. Very gently she rested 
her hand upon his shoulder. 

“Shall you never grow up, Wolff?” she said with fender 
mockery. “Shall you always be a big schoolboy, with the 
one difference that you have grown conceited and believe 
that you can hide behind a full-dress uniform and a gruff 
military voice — even from my eyes?” 

He lifted his flushed, troubled face to hers. 

“You know — everything?” he asked. 

“Everything, lieber Junge. Hildegarde knows, Johann 
knows, the cook knows. I should not be surprised if the 
very sparrows make it a subject of their chattering. And 
you can go about with that stem face and mysterious, close- 
shut mouth and think you have deceived us all ! Oh, Wolff, 
Wolff!” 

“You are laughing at me,” he said. “God knows I am in 
deadly earnest.” 

She took his hand between her own. 

“If I laugh at you it is because I must,” she said ; “because 
it is the only thing to do. There are some forms of quixotic 


116 


DIVIDING WATERS 


madness which it is dangerous to take seriously, and this is 
one of them. Wolff, you have tortured yourself with an un- 
called-for remorse until you are ready to throw your own 
life and the lives of others into a huge catastrophe. In all 
this, have you thought what it might mean to Nora?” 

He started, and the color ebbed out of his face, leaving it 
curiously pale and haggard. 

“I think of her day and night,” he said hoarsely. “I pray 
God that she does not know — that I shall pass out of her life 
and leave no trace behind me.” 

“You believe that that is possible? You deceive yourself 
so well? You pretend you do not love Nora, and you do not 
know that she loves you?” 

“That I love her? Yes, I know that,” he confessed des- 
perately. “But that she loves me — how should I know?” 

“Any one would know — you must know.” She put both 
her hands on his shoulders and looked him firmly in the face. 
“Wolff, if you were honest you would admit it. You would 
see that you have acted cruelly — without intention, but still 
cruelly.” 

“Then if I have been cruel, I have been most cruel against 
myself,” he answered. “But I meant to do what was right 
— I meant to act honestly. It is true when I say I love 
Hildegarde. I do love her — not perhaps as a man should 
love his wife, but enough, and I had sworn that I would 
make her happy, that I would compensate her for all that she 
has lost. I swore that to myself months ago — before Nora 
came. When Nora came, Aunt Magda” — his voice grew 
rough — “there are some things over which one has no power, 
no control. It was all done in a minute. If I had been 
honest, I should have gone away, but it would have been too 
late. And as it was I deceived myself with a dozen lies. I 
stayed on and saw her daily, and the thing grew until that 


YOUTH AND THE BARRIER] 


11 1 


morning when Bruno bolted. I lost my head then. When 
it was all over I could not lie and humbug any more. I had 
to face the truth. It was then Hildegarde fell ill. I felt it 
as a sort of judgment.” 

He spoke in short, jerky sentences, his face set and gray 
with the memory of a past struggle. He sprang to his feet 
and stood erect at Frau von Arnim’s side. 

“Whatever else I am, I am not consciously a cad,” he said. 
“What I had done wrong I was determined to put right at 
all costs. I loved Hildegarde, and I had dedicated my life 
to her happiness. Nothing and no one must turn me from 
my purpose. That is why I am here this morning.” He 
made an impatient gesture. “I have been a fool. You have 
seen through me — you have made me tell you what torture 
would not have dragged out of me. But that can alter 
nothing.” 

For a moment Frau von Amim watched his stern, half- 
averted face in silence. Then she too rose. 

“I have a message for you from Hildegarde,” she said 
quietly. 

He started. 

“For me?” 

“Yes. Those who suffer have quick eyes, quicker intui- 
tions. She saw this coming, and she asked me to tell you — 1 
should it come — that she loved you too much to accept a 
useless sacrifice. For it would have been useless, Wolff. 
You deceive yourself doubly if you believe you could have 
made Hildegarde happy. Yes, if you had brought your 
whole heart — then, perhaps; but it is almost an insult to 
have supposed that she would have been satisfied with less. 
Since her illness she has told me everything, and we have 
talked it over, and this is our answer to you: Take the 
woman you love; be happy, and be to us what you always 


118 DIVIDING WATERS 

were. In any other form we will have nothing to do with 
you!” 

She was smiling again, but Arnim turned away from the 
outstretched hands. 

“It is awful !” he said roughly. “I can not do it — I can 
not !” 

“You must', Wolff. Let time pass over it if you will, but 
in the end you must yield. You dare not trample on your 
own happiness, on Nora’s, on Hildegarde’s — yes, Hilde- 
garde’s,” she repeated emphatically. “In the end she will 
find happiness in her own renunciation. She loves you both, 
and the first bitterness is already past. And why wait? 
There may be struggles enough before you both, though I 
shall do my best to help you. Go to Nora and make her 
happy. Believe me, lieber Junge , the heartache has not been 
all on your side.” 

He had taken her hands now and was kissing them with a 
passionate, shame- faced gratitude. 

“You make me feel the lowest, meanest thing on earth, 
he said. “And Hildegarde is an angel — far too good for 
me.” 

“Yes; that is the best way to put it,” she said. “Hilde- 
garde is too good for you. And now perhaps it would be 
wise for you to go in search of the woman who is your equal.” 

“Not now,” he said. “I could not. I must be alone a lit- 
tle. It has all happened so suddenly. My whole life and 
future has changed in a minute.” 

“Do as you think best, dear Wolff. But do not wait long.” 

He pressed her hand again in farewell. 

“You love Nora?” he asked. 

“Yes; otherwise I would not have let things drift. There 
are many barriers between you — race and language are not 
the least — and we had thought of a match — since Hilde- 


YOUTH AND THE BARRIER 


119 


garde’s illness — more, perhaps, in accordance with our fam- 
ily traditions. But Nora is a dear, sweet child, and, I 
believe, will make you a good wife. At any rate, I shall do 
all I can to smooth your path, and Hildegarde and I will be 
happy to welcome her as one of us.” 

He smiled, half in gratitude, half in doubt. 

“You seem very sure that she will have me,” he said. 
“Everybody does not think me such a fine fellow as you do.” 

“Lieber Junge, I am a woman, and when I see a girl grow 
thin and pale without apparent cause — well, I look for the 
cause. Nora has been very unhappy in the last days. I sus- 
pect strongly she has been suffering from your conflict and 
no doubt looks upon her life and happiness as ruined. That 
is why I tell you not to wait too long.” 

There was so much affection in her tone that the faint 
mockery in her words left no sting. 

“I will not wait long, I promise you,” Wolff said. 

At the door he turned and looked back at her. It was al- 
most as though he had meant to surprise her into a betrayal 
of some hidden feeling; but Frau von Arnim had not moved, 
nor was there any change in the grave face. 

“Tell Hildegarde that I shall never forget,” he said ear- 
nestly, “that I owe her my happiness, and that I thank her.” 

“I shall give her your message,” Frau von Arnim an- 
swered. 

The fate that arranges the insignificant, all-important 
chances of our lives ordained that at the same moment when 
Wolff von Arnim passed out of the drawing-room Nora 
Ingestre came down the stairs. She held an open telegram 
in her hand, and the light from the hall window fell on a 
face white with grief and fear. 

Arnim strode to meet her. 

“What is it?” he demanded. “What has happened?” 


120 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“My mother is very ill,” she answered faintly. “They have 
sent for me.” 

She had descended the last step. The next instant Wollf 
von Arnim was at her side, and had taken her in his arms. 

“Mein Liebling !” he whispered. “Mein armes Liebling! }> 

She yielded, overwhelmed by the swiftness of his action, 
by her own wild heart-throb of uncontrollable joy. Then 
she tried to free herself. 

“You must not I” she cried. “It is not right !” 

“My wife !” he retorted triumphantly. “My wife !” 

She looked up into his face. At no time had he been 
dearer to her, seemed more worthy of her whole love, than he 
did then, with his own joy subdued by an infinite tenderness 
and pity. But the name “wife” had rung like a trumpet-call, 
reminding and threatening even as it tempted. 

“Oh, Wolff !” she said, “you must let me go. It is not pos- 
sible — you do not understand. I — ” 

She was going to tell him of the barrier she had raised 
with her own hands, of the letter that was on its way. She 
was going to say to him, “I am not free. My word is given 
to another. Seek your happiness where it awaits you.” In 
some such words she meant to shatter her own life and lay 
the first stones of the atonement to the girl whose happiness 
she had stolen. Or, after all, had it been no theft? Was it 
not possible that she had been deceived ? And even if it were 
true, had it not been said, “A useless sacrifice is no sacrifice 
at all?” Had she not a right to her happiness? And Wolff 
was speaking, and it seemed to her that his joy and triumph 
answered her. 

“Nothing can come between us and our love!” he said. 
“Nothing and no one! Oh, Nora, ich habe dick so endlos 
liebr 

The barrier, the letter, Hildegarde, every heroic resolu- 


YOUTH AND THE BARRIER 


121 


tion was forgotten, swept away by the man’s passion and her 
own exulting love. Nora leant her head against the dark- 
blue coat in reckless, thankful surrender. 

“Ich liabe dich so endlos lieb!” he repeated. “Kannst du 
mich auch lieb haben?” 

And she answered fearlessly : 

“I love you !” and kissed him. 

Such was Nora Ingestre’s brief courtship and betrothal. 


CHAPTER XI 


WOLFF MAKES HIS DEBUT IN DELFORD 

T HE family Ingestre was once more united. As far as 
could be judged from appearances, the union was a 
complete one. Domestic peace and prosperity seemed to 
hover like benignant spirits over the tableau which con- 
cluded the day’s round. Mrs. Ingestre lay as usual on her 
couch beneath the light of the tall red-shaded lamp, her 
husband was seated at the table, poring over a volume of the 
latest dogma, whilst his son, still suffering from the results of 
a nervous breakdown (attributed to overwork), reclined in 
the most comfortable armchair by the fireside, and imbibed 
military wisdom from a London daily. If there was any note 
of discord in this harmony, it came from Nora. She stood 
opposite her brother, with her elbow resting on the mantel- 
piece, and the firelight betrayed a warning flash in the wide- 
open eyes and a tense line about the mouth which boded not 
altogether well for peace. Her father had glanced once or 
twice over his spectacles in her direction, but had seemed 
satisfied. On the whole, she had taken her abrupt and 
alarming recall with surprising docility and had accepted the 
obvious exaggeration of the Rev. John’s report concerning 
her mother without resentment. Mrs. Ingestre had been ill, 
but then she was always more or less ill, and the degree more 
had scarcely justified the good gentleman’s excited telegram. 
Were the truth admitted, he had been glad to seize upon an 
excuse to withdraw Nora from the “pernicious influence” of 

122 


WOLFF MAKES HIS DEBUT IN DELFORD 123 


her foreign surroundings, and the strain of copying his ser- 
mons and attending to his own affairs generally had given 
the casting vote. As it has been said, Nora’s docility had 
been as agreeable as it was surprising, and he attributed it to 
causes very satisfactory to himself. It was obvious, as he 
had explained triumphantly to Mrs. Ingestre, that Nora had 
had a bitter lesson “amongst these foreigners,” and was only 
too glad to be home. Hitherto, Nora had allowed him to 
cherish this delusion — hence the undisturbed peace in the 
family circle. 

The French clock on the mantelpiece struck nine. Nora 
started and looked up, as though she had been waiting for 
the sound. Then she turned and stood with her back to the 
fire, her hands clasped behind her, her head held resolutely. 
“Father and mother,” she began, “I have something impor- 
tant to tell you.” 

The Rev. John turned over a page before considering the 
speaker. The formality of the address and Nora’s general 
attitude would have startled him if he had been any judge 
of outward and visible signs, but he was one of those men 
who only see what they have made up their mind to see, and 
just at that moment he was determined to look upon Nora 
in something of the light of a returned and repentant 
prodigal. 

“Well, my dear,” he asked indulgently, “what is it?” 

“I want to tell you” — Nora took a deep breath — “that I 
am engaged to be married.” 

The Rev. John removed his spectacles. 

“To whom?” 

“To Captain von Arnim.” 

For a full minute her father said nothing. Miles sat up 
as though a bomb had exploded in his close proximity. Only 
Mrs. Ingestre remained unmoved. She was watching her 


1 24 


UlViDUNH WA1EKS 


daughter with grave, thoughtful eyes, but there was an un- 
mistakable, half -whimsical, half-pitying smile about her 
mouth. The Rev. John passed his hand over his head, there- 
by ruffling a thin wisp of hair, which, usually decorously 
smoothed over a wide surface, now stood on end in a fashion 
wholly inconsistent with the seriousness of the moment. But 
of this he was fortunately ignorant. To do him justice, his 
agitation was unfeigned. The blow had demoralized him, 
and to cover the momentary mental paralysis he took refuge 
in an obstinate refusal to understand what had been said to 
him. 

“My dear,” he began amiably, “you mentioned that some 
one was going to be married — I did not catch the names. 
Would you mind repeating — ?” 

“I said that Captain von Arnim has asked me to be his 
wife,” Nora answered steadily. 

“The impertinence of the fellow!” Miles had by this 
time recovered his self-possession sufficiently to speak. “I 
hope you sent him to the right-about?” 

“I kissed him,” Nora explained, with a gleam of humor. 

“Nora !” 

“There was no reason why I shouldn’t. He is to be my 
husband.” 

Miles swore under his breath. The Rev. John rose with 
what would have been dignity but for his ruffled hair-dress. 

“Nora — you — you — are talking nonsense,” he jerked out. 
“I can not believe that you know what you are saying. A — 
a — foreigner — a — a man of whom I know nothing ! — ” 

“You will get to know him in time,” Nora put in hastily. 

“Do not interrupt me. I am grieved — shocked beyond 
words. I can only suppose that you have been led astray — 
eh — blinded by the glamour of a uniform. It is terrible. This 
is the reward of my weakness. Have I not always seen this 


WOLFF MAKES HIS DEBUT IN DELFORD 125 


coming?” — (here the reverend gentleman exaggerated, since 
the gift of prophecy had not been granted him) — “have I 
not always protested against your absence? But I at least 
supposed that — that Frau von Arnim was a woman who 
could be trusted — who would protect you from the — eh — 
attentions of a — ” 

“Frau von Arnim is the best woman I have ever met, ex- 
cept mother,” Nora broke in again. “As to Wolff — ” 

“Wolff!” Miles laughed loudly. “Just think of if, people! 
‘Wolff’ for my brother-in-law! A German bounder in the 
family ! Many thanks !” 

There was a moment’s electric silence. The Rev. John 
had by this time recovered his professional eloquence, and 
was preparing to settle down to the work of exhortation with 
a zest. It was perhaps fortunate that Nora’s face was turned 
away, otherwise he might have found less pleasure in listen- 
ing to his own rounded periods. 

“Miles puts the matter a trifle pointedly,” he began, “but, 
on the whole, he expresses my own views. For many reasons 
I strongly disapprove of an English girl marrying out of her 
people, and as you are too young and inexperienced to appre- 
ciate those reasons, you must submit to my simple authority. 
I must, dear child, absolutely refuse my consent to this pre- 
mature and regrettable engagement. I have no doubt that 
Frau von Arnim will see for herself that in her anxiety to 
effect an advantageous alliance for her nephew she has been 
over-hasty — I must say, inexcusably hasty, in giving her 
sanction.” 

“Thank goodness that is knocked on the head!” Miles 
said, rising triumphantly to his feet. “I swear to you, the 
bare possibility makes me feel positively faint. We all know 
what German officers are like — bullying drinkers and gam- 
blers—” 


126 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Nora turned and looked at him. There was something 
very like hatred in her dangerously bright eyes. 

“I forbid you to speak like that of a class to which my 
future husband belongs !” she said. “Besides what you said 
being nonsense, it is also cowardly to attack where no chance 
is given to defend. As to my engagement” — she turned 
again to her father, and her voice grew calm and firm — 
“whether you give your consent or not makes no real differ- 
ence. In a short time I shall be of age, and then I shall 
marry Wolff. We can afford to wait, if it must be.” 

“Nora!” The Rev. John recovered his breath with diffi- 
culty. “How can you — how dare you speak to me like that? 
Have you forgotten that I am your father — that — ” 

“I have not forgotten anything,” Nora interrupted, in the 
same steady accents, “but it would be hypocritical of me to 
pretend a submission which I do not feel and which I should 
consider disloyal. Hitherto my duty has been toward you 
— it is now due to the man whom I love above every other 
earthly consideration. It does not matter in the least to me 
that Wolff is a foreigner. If he were a Hottentot it would 
make no difference.” 

Neither the Rev. John nor his son found any immediate 
answer. They looked at the proud, determined face, and 
perhaps in various degrees of distinctness each realized that 
Nora the child was a creature of the past, and that this was 
a woman who stood before them, armed and invulnerable in 
the strength of her awakened passion. 

The Rev. John, completely thrown out of his concept by 
this unexpected revelation, looked at his wife with the weak 
appeal of a blusterer who suddenly discovers that he has 
blustered in vain. Mrs. Ingestre saw the look — possibly she 
had been waiting for it. 

“I think that, if all Nora says is true, we have no right 


WOLFF MAKES DEBUT IN DELFORD 127 


to interfere,” she said quietly, “and the best thing we can do 
is to ask Captain von Arnim to come and see us. What do 
you say, Nora?” 

Nora’s whole face lit up, but she said nothing, only looked 
at her father and waited. Had she burst out into a storm of 
girlish delight and gratitude, the Rev. John might have 
plucked up courage and held his ground, but that steady self- 
repression indicated a strength of purpose of which he him- 
self was incapable. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Since my authority is denied in my own house, there is 
no object in appealing to me,” he said peevishly. “Do what 
you like — only, in the future remember that I warned you. 
You have taken your life into your own hands, Nora. I can 
no longer hold myself responsible.” 

“All I beg is that I shall be allowed to keep out of the way 
when the beggar comes here,” Miles said, as he followed his 
indignant parent out of the room. 

The moment the door had closed Nora left her place of 
defense by the fire and came to Mrs. Ingestre’s side. 

“I know you are wondering why I did not tell you before, 
mother,” she said rapidly and clearly. “It was because I 
did not want to drag you into it more than I could help. I 
know what you have to bear when father thinks you are 
me. I wanted to fight my battle alone.” 

“And I suppose you think you have won, Nora?” 

“Yes, I think so. Father can do nothing.” 

“I was not thinking of that.” 

Nora looked down into the pale face and wondered at the 
pity which mingled with the tenderness of its expression. 

“Of what were you thinking, mother?” 

Mrs. Ingestre sighed. 

“Are you sure of yourself, little girl?” she asked gently. 
“Is your love really above every earthly consideration? Can 


128 


DIVIDING WATERS 


you give up your home, your country, your language, your 
ways, us — your people, without a heart-ache? Do you realize 
that you are bringing your love the greatest of all sacrifices ?” 

“Mother, it is a sacrifice Wolff will never ask of me.” 

“Life will ask it of you — not even Wolff can alter the laws 
of life. The day may come when Circumstance will say to 
you that you must choose. And what then?’’ 

Nora was silent. Then she lifted her head. 

“Then, mother, I should have to choose. It is true — my 
love is strongest in me.” 

Mrs. Ingestre sank back among her pillows. 

“God help you, dear !” she said under her breath. 

Nora waited a moment. There was something more that 
she had to tell — the story of a letter written in a fervor of 
self-sacrifice, and of another letter written two weeks later, 
a pitiful letter containing a confession and a plea for for- 
giveness. But she recognized the signs of exhaustion, and 
crept softly back to the fire. After all, it would do another 
day. Another day! That most pitiful of all excuses had 
haunted her from the moment that she had felt Wolff von 
Arnim’s arms about her, and she was honest enough to de- 
spise it and herself. But she was afraid. She was convinced 
that Wolff would not understand either her old friendship 
with Robert Arnold or her subsequent folly in accepting a 
man she did not love. Nor could she explain, for the one 
explanation possible was the sacred secret of Hildegarde’s 
heart. She was equally convinced that her mother would 
disapprove of her silence and demand that she should deal 
honestly with the man she was to marry. She knew that her 
mother would be right, and indeed she meant to tell the 
truth — but not now. The new happiness was too insecure. 
And then, the episode, foolish and even disloyal as it had 
been, was closed and done with. Robert Arnold had obvi- 


WOLFF MAKES DEBUT IN DELFORD 129 


ously accepted her final acknowledgment of the truth, and 
had silently gone his way. He had not answered either letter, 
and probably they would not meet again, or, at any, rate, 
not until the wound had healed and been forgotten. Was 
it not wiser, therefore, to keep silence also — for the present? 
Thus Nora argued with her own conscience, and, torn be- 
tween a natural rectitude and a headstrong love, came to no 
conclusion, but let the matter drift until that well-known 
“some day” which, had she been wiser, she would have 
recognized as an equivalent for “never.” 

But at least the great battle for her liberty had been fought 
and won. An invitation was promptly sent to Karlsburg and 
as promptly accepted, and the day dawned which was to 
see Wolff’s triumphal entry into the enemy’s stronghold. 
Even Miles, though the permission to “keep out of the way” 
would have been willingly granted him as far as Nora was 
concerned, insisted on making his future brother-in-law’s 
arrival an excuse for returning on leave. 

“The sooner I get the blow over the better,” he said, 
and gratuitously undertook to accompany Nora and her 
father to the station when the unloved guest was expected. 

There were more people on the platform than was usual 
at that time of day. From one source and another, Delford 
had got to know all about Nora’s engagement; and though 
from the station master’s “Well, I call it a real downright 
shame that a pretty girl should throw herself away on one 
of them there Proosians !” to Mrs. Clerk’s “Dear me, how 
dreadful !” the chorus of disapproval had been rung on every 
possible change, still, a good many of the disapproves 
had found it necessary to be present at the ar- 
rival of the London express. Nora herself noticed 
nothing unusual. She was overshadowed by a sense of un- 
reality which made the incidents of the last months seem like 


130 


DIVIDING WATERS 


pictures from a confused dream. Everything had happened 
so swiftly. Love, despair, and happiness had trodden on 
each other’s heels; and in the same moment that she had 
grasped her happiness with both hands, she had been swept 
away, back into the old surroundings where that happiness 
had no place. And now that it was coming to her, seeking 
her out, as it jvere, in the enemy’s territory, she could hardly 
be sure whether it were really true, whether Wolff himself 
were not some dream-figure who had won her in another and 
less everyday existence. 

In the midst of her bewildered thoughts the express 
steamed into the little station, and the next minute Wolff 
had become a living, breathing reality, who swept down upon 
her and kissed her, regardless of all the Delfordites in the 
world. When he gave her time and opportunity to look at 
him, she felt that he, too, had undergone a change, and 
had taken on something of his surroundings. She would 
hardly have recognized him in the plain tweed suit and 
bowler hat. Neither became him so well as his uniform — 
to tell the truth, neither fitted him with any great exactitude, 
and it was all too evident that the suit was “ready-made.” 
But the face, strong and tanned, flushed now with his joy 
at seeing her, was the same. It carried her memory back to 
that wonderful hour when he had lifted her out of the 
deepest despair to an intoxicating happiness, and she, too, 
forgot the Delfordites and the disapproving glances of her 
relations, and clung to him in a transport of delight. 

“My little Nora!” he said, “the weeks have been months !” 

“I am not sure that they have not been years !” she cried, 
laughing. And then she remembered her father and brother, 
and hastened to perform the ceremony of introduction. The 
three men shook hands, the Rev. John with solemnity, Miles 
with a covert sneer and a glance which took in every detail 


WOLFF MAKES DEBUT IN DELFORD 131 


of the new-comer’s person. Either the solemnity or the 
sneer worked depressingly on Wolff’s spirits. He grew 
suddenly quiet and grave, though his eyes, when they met 
Nora’s, flashed with a smothered happiness which she read 
and understood. 

But the drive home in the narrow confines of the Delford 
brougham remained in Nora’s memory as one of the most 
painful in her experience. The Rev. John persisted in his 
funereal solemnity, and talked of the weather, the journey, 
and the crops, very much as though he were trying to take 
their minds off the unpleasant circumstances which had 
brought them together. As to Miles, he sat in the far corner 
with his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window — 
when he was not staring the new-comer out of countenance. 

Poor Nora! Never before had she greeted the appear- 
ance of the monument and the ugly church steeple with so 
much thankfulness. 

“We are nearly there now,” she said, looking up into 
Wolff’s face. “Mother has been so impatient to see you.” 

Her eyes were full of a shamed, indignant apology, to 
which Wolff’s quiet smile seemed to answer, 

“What do I care for them? I would carry you off if 
there were forty of them, all forty times as disagreeable!” 
And he pressed her hand defiantly under the rugs. 

At length the vicarage was reached. The queer, old- 
fashioned trunk was dragged down from its perch, and five 
minutes later Wolff was standing in the dimly-lit drawing- 
room. Mrs. Ingestre had heard their coming, and came 
slowly and painfully forward. Her hands were outstretched, 
and Wolff took them, gravely bowing, and kissed them. Nora 
saw a curious, half-horrified expression pass over her 
father’s face, and Miles smothered a laugh. She felt in that 
moment as though she could have killed them both, and then 


132 


DIVIDING WATERS 


fled with Wolff anywhere, so long as she could get away from 
their stifling atmosphere of self-satisfaction and petty prej- 
udices. 

Her mother’s voice was the first to break the silence. 

“My dear Wolff,” Mrs. Ingestre said gently, “how glad 
I am that you have really come at last!” 

The simple words, with their quietly emphasized accept- 
ance of him as a relation, acted like a balm on poor Nora’s 
wounded spirits. She saw, too, that Wolff’s face had re- 
laxed. 

“You make me very happy,” he said. “I feel for the 
first time that Nora and I really belong to one another — 
since I have seen you, and you have welcomed me.” 

A strange sound came from the Rev. John’s direction, 
which might have been a cough or a groan of disapproval. 
Mrs. Ingestre appeared to notice nothing. She took Wolff’s 
arm, and, leaning on him as though for support, led him 
closer to the light. 

“You must forgive me,” she said. “Remember that I am 
an old woman and that old women have their cranks. 
One of mine is that I do not like to be kept waiting. And I 
have been kept waiting so long to see the face of this won- 
derful German that I forgot that in all politeness I should 
be studying you out of the corners of my eyes. Nora has, 
of course, described you — but then, Nora is prejudiced.” 

At this point the Rev. John’s cough became consumptive 
in its hollow persistency, and he was heard to murmur 
something to the effect that Herr von Arnim would no doubt 
like to be shown to his room. Herr von Arnim appeared 
to be afflicted with deafness. He looked down at Mrs. 
Ingestre, meeting her frank inspection with steady, laugh- 
ing eyes. 

“I am not' anything to look at — especially in these clothes,” 


WOLFF MAKES DEBUT IN DELFORD 133 


he said naively. “I don’t think even Nora could have said 
that I was handsome. So you must not judge by appear- 
ances. After a time you will know what I really am, and 
I hope you will l'ike me.” 

“If I can trust Nora’s description I do that already,” 
Mrs. Ingestre answered, “but, more than Nora, more than 
experience, I trust my own eyes. And I think” — she paused 
and the smile that crept about her lips lit up her whole face, 
and made it almost young and very beautiful — “I think I 
shall be happy to give my Nora to you, Wolff.” 

The cough and its owner had departed in despair. Miles, 
finding himself ignored, skulked sulkily in the passage. 
Wolff bent and kissed the white, delicate hand that still 
clasped his own. 

“I thank you !” he said simply. 

This time there were neither exclamatory eyebrows nor 
smothered giggles, and Nora, forgetting that they had ever 
been, saw in Wolff’s action the seal and charter of her 
happiness. 


CHAPTER XII 


NORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRY 

N ORA believed in unalloyed happiness. Any one with 
more experience would have known that unalloyed 
happiness, as such, does not exist. The moment when we 
feel ourselves supremely happy is the moment when we are 
most exposed to the rude shocks of fortune. We know it, 
and consequently our bliss is immediately overshadowed 
with the knowledge of its short duration. 

When Mrs. Ingestre and Wolff had stood together hand 
in hand, as though in solemn compact of friendship and af- 
fection, Nora’s heart had filled to overflowing; but already 
that same evening a dozen trifles, a dozen pin-pricks, came to 
prove to her that the storms and misadventures of the last 
weeks were by no means at an end. Her father who, to do 
him justice, never accused a fellow-creature until he was 
proved guilty, was none the less on the lookout for proofs 
of Wolff’s unsuitability, and continued distressed and grave. 
If at any time the conversation became in the least animated, 
or showed a tendency to the mildest form of hilarity, he was 
at once on the spot with some painfully repressing common- 
place. It was as though he were constantly murmuring, 
“Children, remember what has happened ! This is not an 
occasion for unseemly mirth !” and in spite of all efforts 
the conversation drifted into a channel which would have 
been considered unnecessarily depressing at a funeral. 
Miles aided and abetted his father after his own fashion. 
134 


NORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRY 135 


His asides to Nora were marked by pungent humor and 
sarcasm. Inquiries after Wolff’s tailor, and whether it was 
the fashion in Germany to wear one’s tie at “that angle,” 
were varied with shocked appeals that “that fellow might 
be told to put his knife and fork together when he had fin- 
ished eating, and not leave it sprawling about his plate like 
a yokel!” 

Nora never retorted. She felt the uselessness of explain- 
ing that the Germans were different, but not on that ac- 
count worse; but she felt like an enraged tigress who sees 
her cub attacked by brutal, clumsy hands. She did not see 
that Wolff, unaccustomed to such things, had struggled in 
vain with a refractory evening tie, nor that the cut of his 
coat was scarcely of the latest fashion. She saw first and 
foremost that he was a man and a gentleman, and her love 
and respect for him kindled in the same measure that her 
love for her father and brother diminished. There were 
moments during Wolff’s fortnight visit when she came to 
hate both, so intensely did she resent their attitude toward 
her future husband. The Rev. John, thanks to Mrs. Ingestre, 
remained formal and polite to Wolff’s face. Behind his back 
he displayed an all-damning charity. 

“Of course, we must not judge a foreigner by our stand- 
ards,” he w r ould say pathetically, “and I daresay he is well- 

meaning, but I wish, my poor child ” He would then 

break off, and look out of the window with an expression 
full of the most moving pity and regret. 

Miles, fortified with the knowledge of examinations, 
passed and dawning manhood, was not so reserved in his 
opinions. 

“I can’t think what you see in him, Nora!” he once said 
condescendingly. “He is a regular out-and-out German, and 
his hat-doffing and hand-kissing make me sick. I wish he 


136 


DIVIDING WATERS 


would take himself and his beastly polish back to his own 
country.” 

Whereby it will be seen that “beastly polish” was not 
one of Miles Ingestre’s weaknesses. 

On the whole, Wolff more than held his own. Although 
unaffected and modest as far as his own person was con- 
cerned, he was much too deeply imbued with the traditional 
conception of his social position to feel anything but calm 
amusement at the ungraciousness of his two hosts. As an 
officer in the king’s army, and as a scion of an old and noble 
race, he felt himself secure against contempt even in a for- 
eign country where such things did not count. For him they 
counted everywhere — they upheld him and lent him an im- 
perturbable savoir faire where another man would have 
shown temper or resentment. Nevertheless, the fortnight 
was not a very happy one. The unspoken knowledge that 
Wolff was not “approved of” weighed upon Nora and him- 
self as a fact which both recognized but felt wiser to ignore. 
They were ill at ease even when alone — Nora because she 
was ashamed of her own people, Wolff because he knew she 
was ashamed, and could do nothing to help her. Conse- 
quently they were happiest when together with Mrs. Ingestre. 
Her grace of manner and openly expressed affection for her 
future son-in-law lifted the shadow between them, and the 
hours spent at her side counted among the most unclouded. 

There were constant “visits” during Wolff’s stay. From 
the inevitable Mrs. Clerk, who, in spite of strong disap- 
proval, could not refrain from gushing over the German 
baron to the manor people, who were ponderously and 
haughtily critical, the whole of Delford came up for the 
inspection. Of course, it was a “formal” inspection. “In- 
formal inspections” had been held in church, and when 
Wolff had cantered through Delford on a borrowed horse, 


KORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRY 137 


which Miles had hopefully but mistakenly prophesied would 
“buck him over the first hedge.” On the latter occasion it 
is possible that more than one feminine heart was stirred 
to unacknowledged admiration for the bronzed face and 
splendid figure, and even Miles was compelled to the sulky 
confession that) “the fellow could ride.” 

Thus the days passed, and, except in one long interview 
with the Rev. John, Wolff and Nora’s marriage was treated 
as a tabooed subject. That interview, revealing as it did, not 
very brilliant financial prospects, reduced the reverend gentle- 
man to even deeper depression, and the hope of a definite 
settlement seemed all too far off. It was then that Mrs. 
Ingestre threw in the casting vote of her influence. A few 
days before Wolff’s departure she called him to her, and the 
two were alone together for a long time. In that hour Wolff 
learned to know more of Mrs. Ingestre’s life and character 
than Nora had done in all the years at her mother’s side. 
In her desire to help her daughter to happiness, all other 
considerations were forgotten, and Mrs. Ingestre revealed 
unconsciously to Wolff’s more experienced eyes a profound, 
if resigned, grief over her own life, stifled and clogged as 
it had been in her husband’s atmosphere. In the quiet room, 
her voice sounded peculiarly earnest, almost impressive. 

“I need not tell you, my dear Wolff,” she said, “that my 
husband is against your marriage with Nora. You must 
know that already. He has other ideas of happiness and 
suitability, and I can scarcely blame him, since they were 
once mine. Like him, I once saw in long acquaintance, 
similarity of ideas, and, of course, nationality, a certain 
wealth and position, the best foundations for a happy and 
successful life. Like him, I would probably have thought 
that you were not rich enough to marry, that you had not 
known each other long enough, that the difference of nation- 


138 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ality and upbringing would be too great a stumbling block. 
I have learned since those days to think differently. The cir- 
cumstances make little difference either way, so long as a 
great love is there. And, after all, what is a great love?” 
For the first time her tone was tinged with a faint cynicism. 
“Who can dare to call their love really great until they are 
on their deathbeds? We can not be sure of our love, whether 
the object be well known to us or not, until it has been tried 
by the fires of years and custom. Custom is the hardest 
trial of all, and that is why I am glad rather than sorry that 
you and Nora know each other so little. It is because you 
know each other so little that you are in love, for being in 
love is simply the charm of standing before the closed, mys- 
terious door of another’s personality, and knocking for it to 
open. When the door opens, you will cease to be in love, 
but I believe that, because you are both worthy of it, you 
will find the all-enduring love waiting for you. At any 
rate, it seems to me the chances are as great for you as for 
those who, knowing each other too well, have never known 
the charm. Wolff, I am an old woman in suffering, if not 
in years, and I think age and youth often join hands over 
the experience of middle life. Youth believes it is better 
to be truly happy for an hour and to suffer through all 
eternity rather than enjoy years of placid, passionless con- 
tent. And that is what I have also come to believe. I 
would rather Nora enjoyed a brief but complete union with 
you than a lifetime of ‘living together’ with another man. 
Besides, I trust you; I believe you to be a good man, as I 
believe Nora to be a good woman, and I hope that in the 
afterward you will learn to love each other. As to the 
question of nationality and wealth, they spell struggle and 
sacrifice for you both, Wolff. As a woman Nora will bring 
the greatest sacrifice, but I know that you will help her.” 


NORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRY 139 


“With all my strength.” 

“And you will have patience?” 

He looked at her wonderingly. 

“Sometimes you will need it, Wolff. But Nora is brave 
and good. She will learn to love your country because she 
loves you. For my part — I am glad that she is leaving 
Delford far behind her.” 

Wolff made no answer. He felt that the words were an 
almost unconscious outburst — that unknowingly she had 
spoken of herself. After a moment she went on with a 
quiet smile: 

“So, you see, I am on your side. So long as I am on 
your side, there is nothing for either of you to fear. If 
anything should happen — ” 

“I pray that I shall never give you cause to take your 
trust away from me!” Wolff broke in. 

Mrs. Ingestre shook her head. 

“I was not thinking of that possibility,” she said. “I 
was thinking that if Nora stood alone — without me — the 
fight against her father’s wishes might be harder. I know 
she would hold to you, but it would be at a bitter cost. That 
is why I wish for you to marry soon — as soon as you possi- 
bly can.” 

Something in her tone affected Wolff painfully. He 
looked at her, and for the first time he saw that this woman 
was suffering intensely, silently, with a smile on her lips 
and unconquered life in her eyes. 

“Mrs. Ingestre!” he exclaimed. 

She took his hand and pressed it. 

“I think you know,” she said, “and if I tell you what I 
have withheld, and shall withhold, from every living being, 
it is because I wish you clearly to understand my reasons. 
I cannot live very long, and before it is too late I want to 


140 


DIVIDING WATERS 


see Nora in your care. Can you promise that my wish shall 
be granted?” 

He made no effort to pity or express his grief. There was 
something masculine in her calm which held him silent, but 
in that moment his love for Nora strengthened because one 
woman had lifted her whole sex with her to the highest 
summit of his man’s ideal. He lifted her hand reverently 
to his lips. 

“God knows I promise willingly,” he said. 

Thus Wolff von Arnim went back to his own country, and 
in April, four months later, came again, but not alone. Frau 
von Arnim accompanied him, and Delford awoke from its 
lethargy to the thrilling, gossip-giving occasion of a wed- 
ding. The ugly church was made beautiful with all the 
flowers which Mrs. Ingestre’s garden and the neighboring 
town could provide, the village choir produced its best 
anthem with deafening, ear-rending enthusiasm, and every 
inhabitant turned out to gape at the “Baron” and the 
elegant woman who — it was scarcely to be believed ! — was 
actually a German. In truth, Frau von Arnim’s elegance 
and air of grande dame upset not only Delford’s preconceived 
notions, but the Rev. John’s attitude as the condescending 
party in an obvious mesalliance. The “German woman” 
frightened him, and his position was rendered the more dif- 
ficult by his wife, who chose to take a decided liking for this 
new guest and to treat her as a welcome relation. Altogether, 
on the day of the wedding the poor gentleman was fairly 
carried off his feet by the foreign invasion. Not only Frau 
von Arnim, but even the despised Wolff became a personage 
beside whom it was not easy to appear with dignity. The 
latter had discarded the ungainly efforts of the Karlsburg 
civilian tailor, and though the Delfordites, who, in spite of 
a strong anti-military spirit, had had secret hopes of being 


NORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRY 141 


regaled with flying plumes and glittering epaulettes, were 
somewhat disappointed with his frock-coat and his height; 
the fact that he was a “real foreigner” successfully withdrew 
every particle of attention from the Rev. John’s moving 
address. 

In all the church there were perhaps only three people 
for whom the ceremony had any other significance than 
that of an interesting show, and none of them were listen- 
ing to the Rev. John. Mrs. Ingestre was praying for the 
future in which she was doomed to have no share. Wolff 
and Nora thanked God for the present, which was theirs 
and which seemed but a foretaste of the future. Both had 
forgotten the trials and disappointments of the last four 
months, or if they thought of them at all it was as of 
obstacles triumphantly surmounted. 

In Nora all that had grown hard and bitter softened into 
an all-embracing tenderness. Her love for her father and 
brother revived — even Del ford and its inhabitants appeared 
to her in the beautiful light of farewell. She knew she was 
leaving everything, if not for ever, at least for ever as her 
home, and as she walked by her husband’s side down the 
narrow church-yard path her heart throbbed with a sudden 
pain. After all, it was England she was leaving — and she 
was English no longer ! Then she looked up at Wolff, and 
their eyes met, and the pain had died as though at the touch 
of some mysterious healing hand. 

“How I love you!” she thought. 

At the door of her old home Frau von Arnim was the 
first to greet her. Perhaps the elder woman’s instinct had 
guessed the moment’s pain, for she took Nora In her arms 
and kissed her with an unusual tenderness. 

“We will try and make you happy in your new country,” 
she whispered. “You must not be afraid.” 


142 


DIVIDING WATERS 


But Nora was no longer afraid, and her eyes were bright 
with a fearless confidence in the future as she returned the 
embrace. 

“I am happy,” she said. “I have everything that I care 
for in the world.” 

She ran quickly up-stairs and changed into her simple 
traveling dress. Mrs. Ingestre, she knew, was resting in her 
room, and the desire to be alone with her mother for a last 
moment was strong in Nora’s heart. In her supreme hap- 
piness she did not forget those whom she loved; rather her 
love had strengthened, and toward her mother it was 
mingled with an endless gratitude. Yet when she crept into 
the little room she found it empty and silent. Mrs. In- 
gestre had gone back to her guests, and for a moment Nora 
stood looking about her, overwhelmed by the tide of tender 
memories from a past which already seemed so far off. The 
invalid’s sofa, her own special chair where she had sat in 
those peaceful afternoons when they had been alone to- 
gether, her mother’s table — Nora drew closer. Something 
lying on the polished surface had attracted her attention. 
Hardly knowing why, she picked it up. It was a letter ad- 
dressed to her at Karlsburg, and the handwriting was 
familiar. Nora did not stop to think. She tore the envelope 
open and read the first few lines of the contents with the 
rapidity of indifference. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and 
the words and the writing had at first no meaning. And then 
suddenly, as though she had been roughly awakened from a 
dream, she understood what it was she held. It was from 
Robert Arnold, and it was a love-letter. 

She read the first page over and over again. She felt 
stunned and sickened. Her mind refused to grasp what had 
happened. 

“My darling,” Robert had written two months before, 


NORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRY 143 


from some far-off African village, “a miracle has happened ! 
Your letter has come! It must have missed me at Aden, 
and had followed me from place to place until at last it 
has reached my hands. And all these months I have been 
thinking that you had no answer for me, or at the most the 
one I feared. Nora, need you ask me if I will take what 
you have to offer! I love you, dear, and I know my love 
will awaken yours and that I shall make you happy. My 
whole life shall thank you for the trust you have given me. 
I can hardly write for my joy, and the time that must 
elapse before I can see you seems intolerable. I can not re- 
turn for at least two or three months, as I have promised 
a friend to accompany him on an inland expedition, but 
when that is over I shall make full steam for home — or, 
rather, to Germany, if you are still there. In the meantime, 
write to me, dearest. Even though weeks may pass before 
the letters reach me, yet the knowledge that they are there 
waiting will give me hope and courage. I am sending this 
letter to the coast by a native carrier. Heaven knows if it 
will ever reach you, but . . .” 

Nora looked up, conscious that she was no longer alone. 
Wolff stood in the doorway, dressed for departure, his hands 
outstretched. 

“Are you ready, kleine Frau?” he said. “We are all 
waiting for you — ” He broke off, and took a quick step 
toward her. “Nora,” he exclaimed. “How pale you are! 
What is the matter?” 

It seemed to her that a full minute must have elapsed be- 
fore she brought her lips to move, but in reality she answered 
almost immediately: 

“It is nothing — nothing whatever. I am quite ready — I 
will come now.” 

Outwardly pale and calm, she had lost all inner self- 


144 


DIVIDING WATERS 


possession, and in a kind of frenzied fear was tearing the 
letter into a thousand pieces. She had no thought for the 
future ; blindly and instinctively she was saving herself from 
the present. 

Wolff watched her in puzzled silence. Then, when the 
last fragment fell to the ground, he came and took her 
hands. 

“Nora, something is wrong. Did that letter trouble 
you? What was it?” 

“No, no. If it is anything, it is just the thought of leav- 
ing them all. Surely you understand?” 

Poor Nora! That “some day” when she had thought 
to tell him everything became a “never,” sealed and made 
irrevocable by a silence and a lie. Poor Wolff ! He thought 
he understood. He put his arms tenderly about her. 

“Yes, I understand. I know you have given up every- 
thing for my sake. But, oh, Nora, God helping us, we 
shall be so happy !” 

He waited, and then, as she did not speak, went on gently : 

“Can you bear to come now? Is your love big enough 
to give up all that is past, to start afresh — a new life with 
me in a new home, a new country ? Is it too great a sacrifice 
to ask, Nora?” 

His words acted like a strong charm. She thought they 
were prophetic, and her reckless despair changed into a more 
reckless happiness. She lifted her face to his, and her 
eyes were triumphant'. 

“It is no sacrifice,” she said. “My love for you can 
perform miracles. It has made your people my people, 
your God my God, and it can wipe out the past — everything 
— and leave nothing in my life but you ! Take me with you, 
Wolff. I am quite, quite ready!” 


NORA’ FORSAKES HER COUNTRY 145 


He led her proudly and happily from the room, and aft- 
erwards from the house that had been her home. 

But, little as she knew it, no miracle had been performed 
in Nora’s life. 


End of Book I 






> 



BOOK II 




$ 







147 


i 



% 















CHAPTER I 


THE NEW HOME 

“A/TY dear,” said Frau von Seleneck, bustling into her 

-bVX husband’s study, “is it true that the Arnims have 
arrived ? I heard something about it yesterday from Clara, 
but she was not certain, and I want to know. Of course 
they ought to call first, but as one of the regiment, we don’t 
need to stand on ceremony. Besides, I want to see his wife.” 

“And his flat, and his furniture, and his cook, and her 
dresses,” Herr von Seleneck added, with a chuckle. “Yes; 
call by all means. They arrived some days ago and have a 
flat in the Adler Strasse. You had better go this morning.” 

“I thought you had duty?” 

“So I have.” Kurt von Seleneck stretched himself, and 
his eyes twinkled. “You can make that my excuse for not 
accompanying you on your first visit. You don’t need to 
pretend to me, after five years of married life, that you 
really want me to come with you, because you know you 
don’t. Just think of the things you can talk about if I am 
not there! Just think how wretchedly de trop I should be 
between you two, and let me go — this time, at least.” 

“You would have Wolff to talk to,” Frau von Seleneck 
said, trying to draw her round, rosy face into lines of dis- 
appointment. “You must have a lot to say to each other.” 

“Thank you !” her husband retorted, preparing to exchange 
his undress Litewka for the blue coat which a stolid orderly 
was holding in readiness. “Wolff and I will have oppor- 

149 


150 


DIVIDING WATERS 


trinities enough, and the prospect of being sent away ‘to talk* 
like children whilst you two women exchange confidences 
is too humiliating. Go alone, my dear.” 

Frau von Seleneck, having attained her object, proceeded 
to raise all sorts of objections. 

“I think it is mean of you to desert me, Kurt,” she said. 
“Frau von Arnim probably can’t speak a word of German, 
and my English is as rusty as it can be. I haven’t spoken 
it for years and years. We shall have to play Dumb Crambo 
or something, and I shall die of nervousness.” 

“I hope not,” Seleneck said, who was now busy with 
the gloves she had laid out for him. “No doubt you are 
too modest, and your English only needs a little polish to 
reach perfection. At any rate, you can but try, and, as far 
as I know, Frau von Arnim can help things along with her 
German. She has been in Karlsburg ever since May, and 
ought to have picked up something of the language.” 

“Oh, if it comes to that, I dare say I shall manage quite 
well,” said Frau von Seleneck, who was secretly very proud 
of her English, “but I wish she were eine gute Deutsche. I 
can’t think why Wolff married an Englishwoman. All Eng- 
lish people are dreadful. I had an English governess who 
frightened me to death. At meal times she used to keep up 
a fire of unpleasant criticism, and glare at me as though I 
were a sort of heathen monstrosity. ‘Elsa, don’t bolt your 
food ! You eat like a wolf ! Your manners would disgrace 
a bricklayer!’ I simply hated her, and I hate all English 
people. They are so rude and stiff and ungemutlich. One 
sees that they despise everybody except themselves and one 
wonders how they manage it.” 

Her husband laughed good-naturedly. 

“I don’t think they are as bad as you paint them,” he said. 
“I believe some of them are quite decent fellows, and Frau 


THE NEW HOME 


151 


von Arnim is, I know, charming. At any rate, do your best 
to be agreeable; there’s a kind soul. I expect she will feel 
rather forlorn at first.” 

Frau von Seleneck bridled with indignation. 

“Of course I shall be agreeable! If she doesn’t freeze 
me, I shall do everything I can to make her feel she is one 
of us. At least — ” she hesitated, “I suppose she is one of 
us, isn’t she? Who was she before she married Wolff?” 

“My dear, if you knew you wouldn’t be much the wiser,” 
Seleneck said, preparing for departure. “English people 
are different. I believe it is quite an honor to marry a rich 
tea merchant — or a rich anybody, for that matter. As far 
as I know, Frau von Arnim was a parson’s daughter, and 
quite good family. The fact that Wolff married her and has 
been able to stay in the army is guarantee enough.” 

Elsa von Seleneck looked relieved. 

“Of course!” she said. “How stupid of me! Well, I 
shall go and see what I can do to help her. I expect she 
is in frightful trouble with her servants. I know I am.” 

She accompanied her husband to the door of their flat, 
brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his uniform, kissed 
him and rushed to the window to wave him a last farewell as 
he rode off down the quiet street. Until eleven o’clock she 
busied herself with her household matters, then arrayed 
herself in her best clothes and set off on the proposed voyage 
of discovery. 

The Adler Strasse lay at some considerable distance, 
and Frau von Seleneck was both hot and exhausted by the 
time she reached the unpretentious little house where the 
Arnims had taken up their quarters. She had not made 
use of the trams, because if you start taking trams in Berlin 
you can spend a fortune, and she had no fortune to spend. 
Moreover, she was a rotund little person, with a dangerous 


152 


DIVIDING WATERS 


tendency to stoutness, and exercise therefore was a good 
excuse for saving the pfennige. Certainly she had exercised 
enough before she reached the Arnims’ flat. It was on the 
top floor, and even for Frau von Seleneck’s taste, which was 
not that of a pampered millionaire, the stairs were unusually 
steep and narrow and smelly. From the tiny landing where 
the visitor sought room to wait patiently for the opening of 
the hall door, it was possible to make a close guess at the 
various dinners which were being prepared in all four 
flats. Boiled vegetables formed the staple odor, and as, 
according to the unwritten law which governs German flats, 
all the staircase windows were hermetically sealed, it was 
very noticeable indeed. Not that this troubled Frau von 
Seleneck in the least. What did trouble her was the obsti- 
nate silence which greeted her vigorous application of the 
electric bell. At last, after one exceptionally determined 
peal, the door was cautiously opened, and Frau von Seleneck 
found herself welcomed by a girl who stared at her with 
an amusing mixture of alarm and indignation. Frau von 
Seleneck’s inner comment was to the point. 

“Pretty servants are always a trouble,” she thought. “This 
one will certainly be having love affairs with the Bursche. 
I shall warn Frau von Arnim at once.” 

Aloud she inquired if the Gnadige Frau was at' home. To 
her surprise, a deep flush mounted the “servant’s” cheeks 
and dyed the white forehead to the roots of the somewhat 
disordered brown hair. The door was opened a fraction 
wider. 

“I am the Gnadige Frau” a low voice said shamefacedly, 
in a nervous, broken German. “My — my cook has gone out, 
and so — ” 

Frau von Seleneck held out both her hands. 

“Why, of course!” she cried in English. “How stupid 


THE NEW HOME 


153 


of me! I am terribly short-sighted, you know, or I should 
not make so silly a mistake. I am Frau von Seleneck — the 
wife of your husband’s old comrade. I should have had the 
joy of meeting you in Karlsburg, but I was ill at the time — 
and better late than never, as you English say. I have come 
now to tell you * Willkommen in the Fatherland!’ ” 

Her English came in an almost unintelligible rush, but 
the tone was so warm-hearted and friendly, that poor Nora, 
who believed she had brought everlasting disgrace upon 
herself and the whole family, was humbly thankful to open 
the drawing-room door and usher in her unexpected vis- 
itor. 

“I don’t know what you must think of me,” she said, “but 
just at present we have only one servant, and she has gone 
out. It seems the tradespeople don’t come for orders, and I 
am much too inexperienced, and know far too little German 
to go shopping alone.” 

In her unhappiness at having opened the door, she forgot 
to offer Frau von Seleneck a chair; but the latter, at heart 
only too thankful to find the freezing “Englanderin” in so 
human a fluster, took possession of the center of the little 
sofa, and began the work of reassurance. 

“That is nothing whatever in the world, dear Frau von 
Arnim,” she said cheerfully. “I often open the door myself, 
and if anybody takes me for my cook, what does that make? 
It proves that the person does not belong to my circle, and if 
he does not belong to my circle it makes nothing what he 
thinks.” 

During this exposition of incontrovertible logic she had 
been making a rapid mental catalogue of the furniture. Nora 
saw the wandering eyes, and her humiliation deepened. 

“I am afraid the room is horribly untidy,” she confessed, 
wondering if the time would ever come when she would 


154 


DIVIDING WATERS 


be able to stop apologizing and begin a normal conversation. 
“You see, we have only been in a few days, and I have not 
got everything in its place. I hope soon it will look a little 
better.” 

She spoke rather despondently, because she felt the cheap 
little suite of plush furniture gave no great hopes of “look- 
ing better,” even with the most careful arrangement, and she 
was sure that the fact was obvious to all. Very much to 
her surprise, therefore, her visitor broke into a panegyric 
of praise. 

“It is all charming!” she said, looking about her very 
much as though she were in a gallery of art treasures. “I 
do not see how it could be better. And how good have you 
chose the colors! The chairs are almost the same tint as 
the paper, aren’t they ? — not quite, perhaps, but nearly. And 
the curtains are exquisite. How I envy you! When you 
come to see us, you will say, ‘Ach! how is all old and 
shady!’ and you will pity us long-married people.” 

“Perhaps you would like to see the other rooms?” Nora 
suggested, who had never mastered the problem as to what 
one did with visitors who called at twelve o’clock in the 
morning. Frau von Seleneck expressed herself more than 
willing, and a close inspection was made of the five large- 
sized cupboards which served the Arnims as abode. 

“Really, one can hardly know which is the most delight- 
ful,” Frau von Seleneck declared at the end. “Everything 
is so tasty, as you English say — so bijou.” 

“A little stuffy, don’t you think?” Nora said timidly. “I 
can never get enough air, and the stairs are sometimes quite 
— unpleasant. Didn’t you notice it?” 

“ Ach, was!” Frau von Seleneck exclaimed. “You should 
smell ours when our down-below neighbors have their wash- 
day. Then you might complain. But one must not com- 


THE NEW HOME 


155 


plain. It is the greatest mistake possible — and so ungrateful. 
Everything is so delightful, you know.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Nora said hestitatingly. 

Frau von Seleneck gave a comfortable little laugh, and 
patted her on the shoulder. 

“You don’t think so, Verehr teste ? You must do like I. 
Six days in the week I thank dem lieben Gott that my neigh- 
bors wash not, and the seventh I think of my sins. That 
way I can almost enjoy the smell. And after all, it is quite 
a little smell, and my sins are sometimes — ” She spread 
out her arms to indicate an immeasurable immensity, and 
Nora laughed. Her visitor’s good spirits were so infectious 
that she forgot her futile discussion with the cook, and 
the impenetrable stupidity of the Bursche, and began to be- 
lieve that everything really was “delightful.” 

“I will think of your advice next time I want to grumble,” 
she said, as they re-entered the drawing-room. “Perhaps it 
will help me over some bad moments.” 

Frau von Seleneck took her hand, and, to Nora’s surprise, 
embraced her affectionately. 

“That is why I am here,” she said. “The others — the 
Spitzen, superior officers and wives, you know — you will 
have to visit first. But I thought I could help you. I am 
such an old soldier.” She laughed again, and then became 
suddenly thoughtful. “Have you yet called upon the 
Mayos?” she asked. 

“No,” Nora answered abruptly. 

“Then you must do so at once — they are important people, 
and Major von Mayo is your husband’s direct superior. 
You know, at the beginning it is important that you should 
offend no one — one can not be too particular.” 

“I met Frau von Mayo in Karlsburg,” Nora said. “I 
did not like her — she was rude and ill-mannered.” 


156 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Frau von Seleneck’s eyes twinkled. 

“She is always so,” she said. “One gets accustomed.” 

“I do not think that I should ‘get accustomed/” Nora 
retorted, with heightened color. “At any rate, I shall not 
call.” 

“You — ” Frau von Seleneck gasped and her eyes 
distended with unaffected horror. “Aber, du lieber Gott in 
Himmel ! — you can not mean what you say, you do not 
know — ” she choked. “Es ist unmoglich !” she declared, 
as though addressing an unreasonable deity. 

“I don’t see why it is unmoglich” Nora said. “There is 
no purpose in calling on people whom I do not want to 
know. I told Wolff so.” 

“Ah, you have told your husband ! And what did he say?” 

Nora hesitated. She remembered now that Wolff had 
looked troubled, and the remembrance caused her a sudden 
uneasiness. 

“He said I could do as I liked,” she said slowly. 

“Ah, the young husbands!” Frau von Seleneck threw 
up her hands. “What folly! It must not be. You must 
call on the Mayos — on everybody. You must not show that 
you hate or that you love. You must be the same to all — 
gracious, smiling — though you may want to scratch their 
eyes out. You must remember we are all comrades.” 

“Comrades ! I do not want Frau von Mayo as a com- 
rade!” Nora cried indignantly. 

Frau von Seleneck bent forward, and her voice sank to 
a mysterious whisper. 

“Nor do any of us. I tell you in secret — she is a hateful 
person. But we must not let her see — it is our duty to 
pretend.” 

“Why?” Nora demanded uncompromisingly. 

“For our husbands’ sake — it does not do to have ill- 


THE NEW HOME 


157 


feeling between the wives. Then the husbands quarrel, and 
there must be no ill-feeling between comrades.” 

Nora shook her head. 

“I am very much afraid I’m no good at pretending,” she 
said. 

“But you will try — for your good Wolff’s sake? See, I 
will help you — if you will let me.” 

Nora took the outstretched hand. Her moment’s anger 
had gone — dispersed by the simple appeal “for Wolff’s 
sake.” 

“You are very good to me,” she said gratefully, “and I 
will try and do what is right. Everything is so new and 
strange to me.” 

“I know, I know. But you will see — all will go so smooth 
— so smooth. One day I will go with you to the Mayos. I 
have my little English, and that will make it easier. My 
poor English !” She gave another of her comfortable 
chuckles. “He is so very bad.” 

“Oh, not at all!” Nora hastened to reassure her politely. 
“It is really quite good — considering. I can understand 
everything you say.” 

There was a rather sudden silence, and to her alarm Nora 
observed that her visitor’s pink cheeks had turned a bright 
scarlet, and that there was a look of almost childish disap- 
pointment' in the large brown eyes. “What have I done?” 
Nora thought, and then, before she had time to fathom the 
mystery, the good-natured little woman had recovered her 
equanimity as suddenly as she had lost it. 

“You and I must be great friends,” she said. “Our hus- 
bands are so — great friends, and then, of course, you belong 
to the regiment — at least” — she corrected herself hastily, and 
almost apologetically — “your husband is on the staff now, 
and will make a brilliant career, whilst my poor Mann has 


158 


DIVIDING WATERS 


only a year’s Kommando. Still, you did belong to the regi- 
ment, did you not? And that always makes a bond.” 

“Of course,” Nora said. She was a little overwhelmed 
by the respect which this vastly older and wiser personage 
displayed toward her, and for the first time she realized that 
she had married a man on whom the military world already 
cast eyes of interest and envy. “I should only be too grate- 
ful for your friendship,” she went on. “I know no one here, 
and Berlin is so big and strange to me. When Wolff is on 
duty I feel quite lost.” 

“And a leetle Heimweh?” Frau von Seleneck suggested 
quickly. “I know not what the word is in English, but it is 
a terrible pain. I have it here” — she put her hand to her 
heart — “every year, once for two months, when Kurt is in 
the maneuvers, and I weep — I weep whole buckets full.” 

Nora started. 

“Two months !” she said, horror-struck. “And will Wolff 
be away all that time?” 

“Aber naturlich , liebes Kind!, Even your Wolff will not 
be excused again. The emperor has no heart for the poor 
wives. But you must not complain. You must laugh and be 
happy — at any rate, until your husband has gone. I always 
send mine away with a big smile, and tell him I am glad to 
be rid of him. Afterward I weep. It is a great comfort to 
weep, but men like not tears. It makes them uncomfortable, 
and besides, one must not make their duty harder than it is.” 

“Of course not,” Nora said bravely. “I shall do all I can 
to help him. And one can write lots of letters, can’t one?” 

“Every day, and twice a day,” declared her visitor cheer- 
ily, as she arose. “Ach, you will be a good soldier’s wife 
soon. And now I must go and see that my silly Bertha has 
not put all the salt-box in the soup. But if you will let me 
I will come again, and bring my Kurt with me. He was dy- 


THE NEW HOME 


159 


ing to come this time, but I would have none of him. Men 
are such a nuisance, nicht wahr? And then you must come 
and see us, and we will talk German together, and you shall 
know all my friends, and we will help each other like gute 
Kameraden” 

A warm, hurried embrace, and plump, smiling-faced 
Frau von Seleneck was out of the room and on the tiny land- 
ing. A last pressure of the hand, a hearty “ Aufwiedersehen” 
and she had disappeared into a foggy atmosphere of pea- 
soup and sauerkraut. 

Nora went back into the disordered little drawing-room, 
and set to work with a new will. The spirit of cheery con- 
tent and unselfishness had been left sitting on the sofa, and it 
seemed to chuckle in a peculiar, fat, comfortable way as 
Nora pushed the chairs backward and forward in the vain 
attempt to induce an air of elegance. 

“Even if she does admire the furniture, and think the flat 
perfection, she has a good, kind heart,” Nora thought. “I 
am glad we are going to be friends.” 

She began to hum to herself, and when in an unusually 
untidy comer she found a pair of Wolff’s dritte Garnitur 
gloves, she picked them up and kissed them. There was so 
much sunlight and love in her heart that smells and stuffiness 
and ugly furniture were forgotten, and she triumphed in her 
knowledge that she was, without exception, the happiest 
woman in the world. 


CHAPTER II 


AND THE NEW LIFE 

N ORA sank with a triumphant sigh into her favorite 
armchair by the window. The much-dreaded visit to 
the Mayos was an accomplished fact, the day’s household 
work at an end, and for a breathing-space she was at liberty 
to enjoy the luxury of an unobserved idleness. Dusk had set 
in, and dusk is the time of memories and dreams. And this 
evening Nora recalled the near past. She could not have 
explained why of late her thoughts reverted so constantly to 
the glowing period which had stood, as it were, beyond the 
first entry of her marriage and divided it from the dull gray 
of everyday life. The glorious month in the Black Forest, 
the visit to Karlsburg, the princely reception by her hus- 
band’s old regiment, the military serenades, the military 
visits, the endless flood of bouquets from Kameraden, the 
wild enthusiasm of poor little Fraulein Muller, who felt as 
though “it were my own wedding-day, you know, liebes 
Kind,” and behaved as though such were really the case, the 
happy hours with Hildegarde and her mother — all this 
awoke in Nora’s memory like some brilliant intoxicating 
dream in whose reality she could scarcely believe. Then had 
come the house-hunting — or, rather, flat-hunting, in the 
stifling heat of a Berlin July, and at last this — the slow set- 
tling down to her new life. 

Nora sighed. She was feeling very tired and possibly 
slightly depressed. In truth, she was very often depressed 

160 


AND THE NEW LIFE 


161 


in that hour which divided the close of her day’s duties and 
Wolff’s return, and sometimes there was even a touch of irri- 
tability in her depression. The constant round of “teas,” the 
constant meeting of the same people, the constant repetitions, 
the unfailing discussions on Dienst and Dienstangele gen- 
ii eiten wearied her to exasperation. Some of the women she 
liked, some she tolerated, some she hated ; but, hated or loved 
or tolerated, these women formed her “circle,” from which 
there was no possible escape. On the whole, she bore the 
burden of their good-natured dullness with apparent equa- 
nimity, so that Frau von Seleneck had told her, with the sat- 
isfaction of a successful monitor, that she was really “one 
of them.” But there were also moments when weariness 
overcame her determined courage, and only the rallying-cry 
“For Wolff’s sake” could bring light to her eyes. They were 
for the most part lonely moments, when she wandered about 
the tiny flat' seeking some occupation which would help to 
pass the time till Wolff’s return, or when Kriegspiel carried 
him away in the evenings and left her to solitude, a vague 
home-sickness — and fear. For fear had not been altogether 
banished from Nora’s life, though she held it under with a 
firm hand. It haunted her now as she sat there watching the 
lights spring up in the windows opposite ; it asked her what 
had happened, and what might still happen; it reminded 
her of the man she had deceived. No, not deceived. After 
all, she had offered her life, not her love, to Robert Arnold, 
because he had needed her, and because she in her turn had 
needed him as a barrier between herself and the man she 
really loved. When the barrier had proved useless she had 
flung it aside, and she knew that if she could live over again 
that hour when Wolff von Arnim had come to her with love 
and happiness in his hands, she would not act otherwise than 
she had done. And to Robert Arnold she had offered the 


162 


DIVIDING WATERS 


one possible atonement — she had told him the truth. He had 
not answered her, and she had tried to put him out of her 
life, regretfully and remorsefully, as a friend whom she had 
wronged beyond forgiveness. Nevertheless, the power to 
forget had not been granted her. Memory, like some old 
mythological fury seeking an expiatory sacrifice, haunted 
her and would haunt her, as she knew, until such time as the 
sacrifice was paid. And the sacrifice was a confession to her 
husband — an impossibility, since her lips were sealed by a 
lie and by the fear of losing that which was most precious 
to her — his love. 

“But there shall be no more secrets in my life,” she 
thought as she heard his step on the stairs outside, and per- 
haps at the bottom of her heart there lurked a superstitious 
hope that Nemesis had heard her promise and accepted it as 
an atonement. The next minute she was in her husband’s 
arms, and Nemesis, conscience, Robert Arnold, and all the 
petty trials of the day were forgotten, overwhelmed by a pas- 
sionate joy which filled her heart and the dusky room with 
sunshine. 

“Why, Nora!” he exclaimed. “You are like a little hob- 
goblin, springing at one out of the shadows. What have you 
been doing all alone in the dark?” 

“Dreaming — and waiting for you,” she answered gaily. 
“Wait a moment' till I have lit the lamp. I had forgotten 
that weary warriors do not care for the dim religious light 
which goes with dreaming.” 

He sank down into his chair with a tired sigh of content- 
ment and watched her as she busied about the room, putting 
away his gloves and the officer’s cap which he had thrown 
upon the table. There was no trace of depression in her 
face, nor, indeed, in her heart — only an almost childish hap- 


AND THE NEW LIFE 


163 


piness, and gradually the lines of worry and exhaustion 
faded from about the man’s strong mouth. 

“How good it is to come home, Nora!” he said under his 
breath. “When I think of how I used to feel after a long 
day’s work — why, I can’t imagine how I existed.” 

“Do I make all the difference?” 

“All the difference, my little wife.” 

She came and kissed him, and then stood looking down 
into his face with tender concern. 

“You look so tired. Has anything been worrying you?” 

“No, nothing — only the head-work is rather a strain. One 
has to give mind and soul to it ; there is no slacking possible, 
even if one were inclined that way.” 

“Which you are not, you terrible man of iron and blood ! 
Sometimes I am quite jealous of your work: I believe you 
love it more than you do me.” 

“It is my duty,” he answered gravely. And then, after a 
moment, he added in a lighter tone, “By the way, an old 
friend of yours has arrived in Berlin.” 

Nora started. 

“Who?” 

“Bauer!” 

She was conscious of a sensation of relief as reasonable as 
it was acute. Of what had she been afraid? She herself 
could not have told. 

“I used to look upon that man as my evil genius,” she said 
gaily, “but now I think he must have been sent as an angel 
in disguise. If it had not been for him I should not have 
known you loved me — do you remember — that day, in the 
forest?” 

“I am never likely to forget,” with a sudden movement of 
pain. “When I think what might have happened to you — ” 


164 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“You mustn’t think. Nothing did happen to me — or only 
something nice. But now* you must listen to my news. 
Imagine what I have done to-day?” 

“Nora, is that fair? Do you really expect my exhausted 
brains to tackle a problem like that?” 

“Don’t be rude! Think — I have called on the whole 
family Mayo, and been so polite and amiable that her lady- 
ship only found it in her heart to be rude once. What have 
you to say to that ?” 

“What have I to say?” He took her hand and kissed it. 
“Thank you, dear.” 

She looked at him in surprise. 

“Why, Wolff, does it mean so much to you?” 

“Yes, a good deal. You see — one gets a bad name if one 
neglects certain people.” 

“Then why didn’t you insist?” 

He hesitated, avoiding her eyes. 

“I didn’t want to bother you more than I could help. 
Sometimes I am afraid it must be very hard on you, little 
woman.” 

Intuitively she guessed his thoughts, and without a word 
she gathered up some sheets of closely written note-paper 
lying on the table and thrust them into his hands. 

“There, read that, you extremely foolish husband of 
mine !” she cried triumphantly. “I have been writing home, 
so you can judge for yourself.” 

He obeyed, and she stood watching him, knowing that he 
could but be satisfied. Indeed, her letters home were full of 
her happiness and of Wolff — the two things were synony- 
mous — and if she did not mention that' their home was small 
and stuffy, that she did most of the household work herself, 
and that a strict, painful economy watched over every item 
of their daily life, it was partly because she told herself that 


AND THE NEW LIFE 


165 


these details played no part in her estimation and partly be- 
cause she shrank instinctively from the criticism which she 
knew would inevitably result. She gave, instead, glowing 
descriptions of the dinner-parties, of the whist-parties, even 
of the four-hour tea-parties with their unbroken conversa- 
tional circle of Dienstangelegenheiten and Dienst-mad- 
chen. And in all this there was no hypocrisy. Her mo- 
mentary depression and distaste were sub-conscious ; she did 
not recognize them as such. She called them “moods,” which 
vanished like mists in the sunshine of her husband’s presence. 

“Well?” she demanded, as he put the letters aside. 

He shook his finger at her. 

“ Frauchen, Frauchen !” he said, laughing, “I am afraid 
you are what English people would call a humbug. From 
this epistle one would really imagine that Frau von Seleneck 
had received you in a palace, and that you had associated 
with all the belles esprits in Berlin, instead of — well, I im- 
agine something very different. If I remember rightly, on 
that particular evening I found a very pale-faced wife wait- 
ing for me, with a bad headache and an apologetic descrip- 
tion of an afternoon spent in an overheated cupboard, with 
six other unhappy sufferers. And then you sit down and 
write that you enjoyed yourself immensely. Oh, Nora, 
Nora!” 

“I did enjoy myself!” Nora affirmed, perching herself on 
the arm of her chair. “You know very well that the antici- 
pation of happiness is almost as good as the thing itself, and 
every time that I felt I was going to suffocate I thought of 
the evening we were to spend together afterward, and felt 
as happy as I have described myself. After all, everything 
helps to pass the time till we are together again.” 

He put his arm about her and was silent a moment, gazing 
thoughtfully before him. Then he looked up at her. 


166 


DIVIDING WATERS 


‘‘It strikes me sometimes what a poor life I have to offer 
you, Nora,” he said abruptly. “I don’t think I would have 
noticed it so much, had I not seen your home. Poverty is 
such a relative conception. There are hundreds of officers’ 
wives who are no better off than you, and who think them- 
selves comfortably situated. But your father talked of pov- 
erty, and lived — for our ideas — like a lord. When I com- 
pare things I feel as though I had wronged you, and tempted 
you into a life of sacrifice to which you were never born.” 

Nora bent her head and kissed him. 

“You are a very foolish fellow!” she said. “If you were 
not so filled with fortifications and tactics, you would know 
quite well that I would rather live in a rabbit-hutch with my 
husband, than in a palace with a prince.” 

Amim laughed, and it was obvious that her words had 
lifted a very real burden from his mind. 

“I’m afraid you would never get your husband into a rab- 
bit-hutch,” he said, with a self-satisfied glance at his own 
long, powerful limbs. “Still, it is a comfort to know that 
you would be ready to make the attempt. I think, though, 
if your people knew, and were not blinded by a certain de- 
ceitful young person, they would feel very differently. I 
think they would have a good many disagreeable things to 
say on the subject of your German home. Don’t you?” 

“No, I don’t!” said Nora, privately determined that they 
should never have the chance. “I think they would be 
very glad to see for themselves how happy I am.” 

Wolff drew a letter from the pocket of his Litewka , and 
handed it to her. 

“In that case there seems every likelihood of them enjoy- 
ing that spectacle in the near future,” he said. “I had this 
letter from your father by the evening post. Read it and 
see what you think.” 


AND THE NEW LIFE 


167 


Nora’s beaming face clouded over somewhat. Letters 
from her father were always a mixed pleasure, and Wolff’s 
words had warned her that this particular one contained 
something more than the usual condensed sermon. Her sup- 
position was correct. After a long-winded preamble, the 
Rev. John plunged into the matter which was really on his 
mind. It appeared that Miles, having broken down under 
the strain of his military duties, had been granted a few 
months’ leave, and it was proposed that he should spend the 
time abroad — for the benefit of his education. And whither 
was it more natural that he should go than to his own dear 
sister ? 

“You can imagine,” the Rev. John had written, “that 
apart from the fact that we shall miss our boy terribly, the 
expense of the undertaking weighs heavily upon our minds. 
I am prepared, however, to make every possible sacrifice in 
order that he should obtain his wish, and am anxious to 
know if you could help me. Being on the spot, you will 
know best where and at what cost he could remain during his 
stay in your fine capital, and, as one of the family, I feel 
sure that we shall be able to trust him to your care and sur- 
veillance. I should be most grateful, my dear Wolff, if you 
would give me your reply as soon as possible, as Miles is 
most eager to join you, and my wife, whose health, I regret 
to say, is far from satisfactory, feels that it would be good 
for her to be able to enjoy perfect quiet.” 

Nora put the letter down. It was the first time that the 
Rev. John had ever spoken of his son-in-law as “My dear 
Wolff” or admitted that he was “one of the family,” and 
Nora felt vaguely ashamed — so much so, that she did not 
meet her husband’s eyes, but sat twisting the carefully writ- 
ten epistle into a torn screw, as though she would have pre- 


168 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ferred to throw it in the fire, but was restrained by a sense 
of respect. 

“I have certainly overdone it with my descriptions,” she 
admitted frankly. “Miles is getting bored at home, and im- 
agines that we can procure a good time for him here. What 
are you going to do, Wolff?” 

“I think there is only one thing for us to do,” Wolff an- 
swered, with a somewhat grim smile, “and that is — our duty. 
I shall write to your father and invite Miles to stay with us, 
so long as he is in Berlin.” 

Nora got up. The movement was abrupt enough to sug- 
gest a sudden disquiet amounting to actual fear, and her face 
had become crimson. 

“Wouldn’t you like it, Nora?” her husband asked. He 
was watching her keenly, and his gaze seemed to increase her 
uneasiness. 

“Miles is so young — a mere boy,” she stammered. “We 
can’t tell what trouble he will get into. And besides, where 
have we to put him? We have no room.” 

“There is the Frevidenzimmer ” Wolff answered quietly; 
“and as to your other objection, I can only say that at his 
age I was already lieutenant, and free to govern my own life 
as I chose.” 

“One can’t compare you with Miles,” Nora interposed. 
“I think your people must have been able to trust you when 
you were in the cradle.” 

Wolff laughed, but the gravity in his eyes remained un- 
changed. He got up, and put his hands on Nora’s shoulders. 

“You do not want your brother to come,” he said. “Is it 
not a little because you are ashamed — of the way we live?” 

Nora met his eyes steadily, but for a moment she was 
silent, deep in her own thoughts. She was trying to find out 
exactly why a weight had fallen upon her mind, why the 


AND THE NEW LIFE 


169 


atmosphere in the little room had become close and stifling. 
Was it really shame, or was it something else — a foreboding 
of resulting evil, too vague to be defined in words ? 

“I want an answer, Nora,” Wolff continued firmly. “The 
thought that you might be hiding the truth from your people 
out of loyalty toward me is intensely painful. Heaven 
knows, I would bring every possible sacrifice — ” 

“Hush!” Nora interrupted, and there was a curious note 
of sternness in her young voice. “I hate to hear you talk 
like that. It sounds as though I had brought some sacrifice, 
or had lowered myself to become your wife. I married you, 
Wolff, because I loved you, and because I knew that you 
were the only man with whom I could be happy. You have 
given me everything my most sanguine hopes could ask of 
life. That is the truth. What more can I say?” 

He bent and kissed her. 

“Thank you, dear,” he said. “Then I may write to your 
father ?” 

“Yes — of course. I shall miss our quiet evenings alone, 
Wolff ; but if you think it right — ” 

“I think there is nothing else for us to do,” her husband 
answered. “After all, I do not expect it will be for long. 
We must not be selfish, dearest.” 

Nora smiled cheerfully; but for the first time in her mar- 
ried life the cheerfulness was forced. She could not shake 
off the feeling that a change had come, and one which was 
to bring no good with it. 


CHAPTER III 


A MEETING 


RAU VON SELENECK was engaged with her toilet 



A before the looking-glass, and Nora, seated in the place 
of honor on the sofa watched her with a critical interest. 
Hitherto she had not troubled herself much with the dowdi- 
ness or the smartness of her friends’ apparel ; she had 
accepted the general principle that “those sort of things did 
not matter so long as everybody knew who you were;” but 
something or other had occurred of late to change her atti- 
tude — a something which she had successfully avoided 
analyzing. Only when Frau von Seleneck drew on her 
white silk mittens, Nora found herself wondering what Miles 
would think of her and, indeed, of everything. Not that 
Miles’ opinion was of the slightest importance, but the pos- 
sibility of criticism roused her to criticize ; she was beginning 
to consider her surroundings without the aid of love-tinted 
glasses, and the results, if hitherto painless, were somewhat 
disconcerting. 

“Now I am really ready!” Elsa von Seleneck declared, 
considering her bemittened hands. “How do you like my 
dress, Nora?” She lifted the ends of her mouse-colored 
evening cloak and displayed herself with complacency. “No 
one would believe I had had it three years. Frau von Schil- 
ling said she thought it was quite a marvel. But you Eng- 
lish have such good taste — I should like to know what you 
think.” 


170 


A MEETING 


171 


Nora took a deep breath, and then, having seen the round, 
good-natured face turn to her with an expression of almost 
wistful appeal, plunged. 

“I think it is a marvel, too,” she said slowly. 

“I am so glad. You know, the first year I had it it was 
cream, the second year mauve, the third year black. Such a 
beautiful black, too ! Of course, the fashion — ” she looked 
at the puff sleeves regretfully — “they are rather out of date, 
are they not?” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Nora assured her. “The fashions 
are anyhow so ugly — ” she was going to add “here,” but 
stopped in time. 

Frau von Seleneck laughed her comfortable laugh. It was 
one of her virtues that she never gave or suspected offense. 

“Quite right, Norachen. How wonderfully sensible and 
practical you English are — at least, I should not say ‘You 
English,’ for you are a good German now, my dear!” It 
was evident that she had intended the remark as a compli- 
ment, and Nora was annoyed with herself for her own rather 
grim silence. “But there !” her friend went on with a sudden 
gust of energy, “here I stand and chatter, and it is getting 
so late! If there is one thing Her Excellency dislikes it is 
unpunctuality, and at this rate we are certain to miss the 
tram. Now, isn’t that annoying! Bertha has hidden my 
goloshes again !” 

In response to a heated summons, the little maid-of-all- 
work made her appearance, and after a long scramble around 
the hall hatstand the required articles were discovered and 
donned. %■- 

“Now I am really ready!” Frau von Seleneck declared for 
the twentieth time, and to confirm the statement proceeded 
to lead the way down-stairs. Nora followed resignedly. She 
knew that it was raining, and she knew also that the very 


172 


DIVIDING WATERS 


idea of taking a cab would be crushed instantly as a heinous 
extravagance, so she gathered up the frail skirt of her chif- 
fon dress and prepared for the worst with a humorous 
despair. 

Fortunately, though they indeed missed the tram, the road 
to Her Excellency Frau von Gersdorf’s flat was not a long 
one, and only Nora’s temper suffered in the transit. And 
even that circumstance passed unnoticed. Frau von Seleneck 
had walked very fast, and by the time they had mounted the 
flight of stone stairs leading to their destination she was 
hopelessly out of breath and in no mood to notice Nora’s 
ruffled condition. 

“Ah, but it is good to be arrived !” she sighed in English 
as she yielded her cloak to the attendant housemaid. “Now, 
my dear !” 

The “now, my dear,” was uttered in an awe-struck tone 
which suggested a solemn entry into the Imperial Presence, 
and Nora, following her lead toward the drawing-room, ex- 
perienced the bliss of a short-lived hope. She knew that it 
was a great honor to be invited to “Her Excellency’s Even- 
ings;” was it not possible that they might be different to the 
other “evenings” which she knew so well? Was it not pos- 
sible that she was to see new faces and learn to know a bril- 
liant world which she could show to Miles without — She 
did not finish the thought, and indeed the hope had died at 
birth. 

The door was thrown open, and she found herself in a 
small library, which appeared to form a kind of backwater 
for the two adjoining and equally overcrowded rooms. Nora 
sighed. There was no one in that moving stream whom she 
had not met before — the very sandwiches arranged in sym- 
metrical order on the table under the window seemed to 
welcome her with the silent greeting of a long-established 


r A MEETING 


173 


friendship. She knew their history so well. Had she not 
made them herself as many times as it had been her fate to 
give a so-called “evening?” As to the rest of the company, 
there was the usual sprinkling of elderly officers and their 
wives and an apparently limitless number of stray lieutenants 
who, commanded temporarily to Berlin, had been brought 
together by the natural law which unites exiles and outcasts. 
Her Excellency’s son himself belonged to a regiment sta- 
tioned in a southern state — hence the familiar “clique” which 
crowded his mother’s rooms. Nora had seen enough to re- 
sign all hope before their hostess bore down upon them. The 
little old lady, who had been holding a veritable levee at the 
folding-doors, displayed all the naive cordiality which be- 
longed to her South German blood. 

“How good of you to come!” she exclaimed, taking Nora’s 
hand between both her own. “It is such a delightful even- 
ing — everybody is here, you know. And where is Herr von 
Arnim ?” 

Nora looked down smiling into the alert but deeply lined 
face. In any other country Her Excellency von Gersdorf 
would have cut rather a ridiculous figure. She had once 
been a great beauty, and though there were but few traces 
left of her former splendor, she had still retained the long 
ringlets and the flowered brocades of her youth. These and 
other eccentricities — she had a passion for reciting her own 
and other people’s poetry on all possible and impossible occa- 
sions — were respectfully accepted by the mighty circle of her 
acquaintances. She was Her Excellency von Gersdorf, the 
widow of a high-standing court official, and by birth a 
countess with sixteen untarnished quarterings; consequently 
at liberty to do, say, and dress exactly what and how she 
pleased, without exciting the slightest criticism. Nora knew 
all this ; but in the brief pause between her hostess’s question 


174 


DIVIDING WATERS 


and her own answer she found herself again wondering what 
her English friends would say— what Miles would say. 

“My husband sends his greetings and begs that your Ex- 
cellency will excuse him,” she answered. “He has some 
important work to-night and could not accompany me.” 

Frau von Gersdorf nodded, whilst her bright, bird-like 
eyes wandered over her guests. 

“I know, I know ; these General-Staff husbands are totally 
unreliable. But there, I dare say you will be able to amuse 
yourself without him. I think you must know everybody 
here?” 

“Everybody,” Nora responded gravely. 

“And — ach , ja , natiirlich! There is a countryman of 
yours who is most anxious to meet you again.” She saw 
Nora’s color change, and added quickly, “I do not mean an 
Englishman — a captain from the dragoons in Karlsburg — 
Herr Rittmeister !” 

A tall figure in a pale-blue uniform disengaged itself from 
a group of officers by the window and came toward them. 
Nora recognized Bauer instantly, but this time his good- 
looking face, with its expression of almost insolent indiffer- 
ence, aroused no feeling either of aversion or alarm. She 
determined to treat him as she would have treated any other 
acquaintance, satisfied that a great change divided the hot- 
headed child of then from the dignified married woman of 
now. Bauer’s manner also reassured her. He kissed her 
extended hand with a grave respect which was almost apolo- 
getic and caused her to answer his greeting with an impul- 
sive friendliness worthy of a younger and less experienced 
Nora. 

Frau von Gersdorf nodded her satisfaction. She evidently 
felt that two of her guests were settled for the evening, and 


A MEETING 


175 


patted Nora’s arm with a hand whose white beauty was one 
of the few remaining traces of the past. 

“You two can talk Karlsburg news as soon as Herr Re- 
benski has finished his sonata,” she said as she prepared to 
bustle off. “He is one of my proteges — a genius, you know.” 

Bauer looked at Nora with a faint, whimsical grimace. 

“Her Excellency has always a genius on hand,” he said. 
“It is part of her own genius — this ‘discovering’ instinct. 
Apparently the latest belongs to the piano virtuose class. 
We shall have to listen in respectful silence.” 

To confirm his statement, a profound hush fell upon the 
assembly. Those who could find chairs sat down, the others 
lined themselves along the wall and stood in various atti- 
tudes of attention or indifference. Bauer had discovered an 
empty alcove at the back of the room, and from this point 
of vantage Nora studied her surroundings with the keenness 
of her new vision. She had written home of her “brilliant 
life” and had not been hypocritical. For her it had at first 
been brilliant. The resplendent uniforms, the constant social 
intercourse, the courtly gallantry of her husband’s comrades, 
the ring of grand names — all these features in her daily life 
had bewildered her, accustomed as she was to the stagnation 
and general dullness of Delford society. Now the thought 
of Miles’s advent steadied her critical faculties. She saw 
behind the first glamour and almost extraordinary simplicity, 
a total indifference to what she had always looked upon as 
the refinements of life. These people cared for other things ; 
the women thought little of their appearance — they gloried 
in their name and position ; the men, beneath the polish of 
their manners, were something primitive in their tastes. 
Nora thought suddenly of her husband. How little he 
seemed to mind the narrow dimensions of his home, the ugli- 


176 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ness of the furniture ! How satisfied the elegant staff-officer 
seemed with his supper of cheap wine and sausage! Nora’s 
sense of humor won the upper hand. She laughed to herself, 
and suddenly realized that the long sonata was at an end and 
that Bauer was speaking to her under cover of the renewed 
hubbub. 

“Gnadige Frau , do you know why I am here to-night?” he 
asked. 

Nora looked up. 

“Probably because you were invited, and wished to enjoy 
a pleasant evening,” she said, still smiling at her own 
thoughts. 

“A pleasant evening !” he laughed. “Gnadige Frau , in an 
ordinary way I avoid these festivities like the plague. I 
came to-night because I had heard that you were coming. 
Please, do not frown like that — the statement is wholly inno- 
cent of impertinence. I wanted to meet you again because I 
wanted to apologize.” 

“To me?” 

“Yes. Do you remember a certain morning in the forest 
at Karlsburg — a few weeks before your return to England? 
You were out riding with Captain von Arnim, and I galloped 
past you. I was told afterward that my furious riding had 
frightened your horse and that but for your future husband’s 
presence of mind there might have been an accident. The 
thought has troubled me ever since.” 

Nora felt a pang of remorse. She felt that she had mis- 
judged this man. Her previous conduct to him appeared 
inexcusably childish and prejudiced. 

“You did not do it on purpose,” she said gently. 

“No; that is true. I did not see you until it was too late. 
Still, I had no business to ride like that — I was in the devil’s 
own mood that morning.” 


r A MEETING 


177 


"With a reason?” 

“Yes; with a reason. Perhaps one day I will tell you 
about it — but not now. Am I forgiven ?” 

Nora nodded. She was reliving the moment when she had 
felt Wolff’s arm snatch her, as it had seemed, from the brink 
of death ; she saw again his white, frightened face, and an- 
swered truthfully : 

“I have nothing to forgive. You did me no harm.” 

“No; I know,” he said, as though he had divined her 
thoughts. Nora caught a glance of his face in the long mir- 
ror opposite, and was struck for a moment by the bitterness 
of his expression. He looked less indifferent than usual — 
almost disturbed. 

“They say that if you give the devil a finger he takes the 
whole hand,” he went on after a pause, and in a lighter tone. 
“Having obtained your forgiveness, I now come with a re- ' 
quest, gnadige Fraud 3 

“May it be as easily granted!” Nora quickly answered, 
laughing. 

“At any rate, it is not for myself this time. My sister-in- 
law, Frau Commerzienrat Bauer, has asked me to be a sup- 
pliant on her behalf. Perhaps you remember her? You met 
her at the Charity Bazaar last month.” 

Nora shook her head. 

“I am a disgrace — I forget people’s names so quickly,” she 
said apologetically. 

“My relation has a better memory — especially for those to 
whom she has taken a fancy. She has a special weakness for 
English people, and it seems she is most anxious to meet you 
again. She has, of course, quite another circle of acquaint- 
ances, and so is driven to the expedient of calling on you 
herself. Has she your permission?” 

Something in the request or in the manner of its making 


178 


DIVIDING WATERS 


jarred on Nora. She hesitated, not knowing why, and Bauer 
went on quickly : 

“I know this form of proceeding is unusual, gnadige Frau , 
and I confess I should not have undertaken to be my sister- 
in-law’s messenger if it had not been that I had heard you 
■were expecting your brother. The two things do not seem 
to have much connection, but it struck me that it might in- 
terest him — and perhaps you — to see something of another 
side of German life. There is another side, gnadige Frau.” 

“I am very content with the one I know,” Nora answered. 
She was conscious of a rising repugnance — and rising curi- 
osity. 

Bauer laughed. 

“That is natural enough. You have married an officer, and 
have made his set yours. But for your brother it will be dif- 
ferent. I know a little of English life and of English tastes, 
and I fancy he will find all this — this sort of thing cramped 
and dull, not to say shabby. These people” — his tone became 
faintly tinged with condescension — “belong to the class 
which prides itself on being poor but noble, and on despising 
those who have acquired riches. When they have not enough 
to eat, they feast on the memory of their ancestors and are 
satisfied. But there is another class, thank Heaven, one 
which has taken your people as an example, gnadige Frau . 
The great commercial and financial potentates, who have 
flung off the foolish, narrow-hearted prejudices of the past — * 
it is of them and of their lives which you should see some- 
thing before you pass judgment* 

Nora rose suddenly to her feet. She felt vaguely that a 
bribe had been offered her, and, what was worse, a bribe 
whose cunning effectiveness had been based on some in- 
stinctive knowledge of her mind. All her natural loyalty 
rose up in arms against it. 


K MEETING 


179 


“I have not passed 'judgment,” she said proudly. “I 
should never pass judgment on a people to whom I belong.” 
Then the old impulsive kindness moved her to add: “All 
the same, I shall be pleased to renew my acquaintance with 
your sister-in-law at any time convenient to her.” 

She gave him her hand, a little ashamed of her previous 
outburst, and he bent over it and kissed it respectfully. 

“Thank you, gnadige Frau . 39 

She left him, and he stood there stroking his fair mus- 
tache and looking after her with amused and admiring eyes. 
Nor was he the only one to watch her quiet progress, for, lit- 
tle as she knew it, the child Nora had become a beautiful 
woman, and the charm of her new womanhood hung about 
her like a veil. 

Later on, when the last of Her Excellency’s proteges had 
performed their uttermost, and Frau von Seleneck and Nora 
had started on the home passage, the latter ventured a ques- 
tion concerning Frau Commerzienrat Bauer. She did not 
know why she asked, and Frau von Seleneck’s answer did not 
encourage further curiosity. 

“I believe her father had a big furniture-shop somewhere,” 
she said, “and her husband is something or the other on the 
money-market. I can not imagine how the captain got into 
such a good regiment.” 

“He may be a very good officer,” Nora said, conscious of 
a slight feeling of irritation. 

Frau von Seleneck shrugged her shoulders. 

“He may be. At any rate, I know nothing more about his 
relations.” She lifted her skirts a little higher, though 
whether to avoid contamination with the mud or as a sign 
of her general disapproval was not clear. “They are very 
rich,” she added indifferently. 


CHAPTER IV 


A VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 


HE square-built house in the Moltke Strasse was to let. 



X A big notice in the front windows published the fact, 
although the curtains were still hanging, and the air of deso- 
lation which usually envelops “desirable residences,” or their 
German equivalents, was not yet' noticeable. 

Inside, the signals of departure were more evident. The 
hall had been stripped bare of its scanty decorations, and in 
the disordered rooms a person obviously of Hebrew origin 
was to be seen roaming about with a pencil and a greasy 
note-book, making a careful inventory of the valuables. 
There was, indeed, only one room where the bustle and the 
confusion had been vigorously excluded and where the He- 
brew gentleman’s foot had not yet ventured to tread. This 
was Frau von Arnim’s boudoir, and Hildegarde had taken 
refuge there like a shipwrecked mariner on a friendly island. 
She lay on her sofa with closed eyes and listened to the ham- 
mering and bumping of furniture over the bare boards. Only 
an occasional contraction of the fine brows and a tightening 
of the lips betrayed that she was awake, and that the sounds 
were painful to her. 

Frau von Arnim, who was working at her accounts by the 
window, never failed to catch that fleeting expression of suf- 
fering. It was as though some invisible nerve of sympathy 
existed between her and the invalid, and that she knew when 
the dull ache kindled to poignant pain. For a time she re- 
mained silent, ignoring what she saw. Then she rose, and 


180 


a: VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 181 


coming to Hildegarde’s side, laid her hand tenderly upon 
the white forehead. 

“Does it cost so much?” she asked. “Does it cost too 
much? Ought I never to have allowed so great a sacrifice?” 

Instantly Hildegarde’s eyes opened and revealed a bright- 
ness that they had not shown since the days when she had 
ridden at Wolff’s side through the forest, and known neither 
suffering nor loss. 

“It’s not a sacrifice,” she said, taking her mother’s hand, 
and holding it in her own. “When I think of what we are 
going to do, and why we are doing it, I feel as though I 
were giving myself some selfish pleasure and making you 
pay the price. After all, from my sofa the world will look 
much the same in Berlin as it does here, and if I am sorry to 
leave, it is only because every room has its dear associations. 
You see, on my side it is only a sentimental sort of pain, 
which is rather agreeable than otherwise. But for you it is 
different. It will be so lonely for you, and I know how you 
hate flats — a suite of lofts in a badly managed hotel is what 
you used to call them.” 

Frau von Arnim smiled. 

“You have a bad memory in so far as it retains foolish 
remarks, better forgotten,” she said. “I am sure I shall be 
very happy in our new home, and in any case I, too, have 
my pleasure from our ‘plot.’ I have just been reckoning that 
if we are careful we shall be able to allow them at least one 
thousand marks more next year, and that will make all the 
difference in the world to them. They will not have to 
worry so much over their pfennig , at any rate.” ^ 

“If only Wolff will accept it!” Hildegarde said doubt- 
fully. “He is like the rest of us all; and if he thinks, as I 
suppose he must, that we are giving up anything, he will call 
it a sacrifice and will refuse to accept it.” 


182 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“He will do just what I tell him,” Frau von Arnim re- 
torted, with a touch of half-laughing authority, which threw 
a sidelight on her conscious power over her entourage. “He 
will let me humbug him because there will be nothing else 
for him to do. I shall say that we have come to Berlin to 
be near them — which is true; that we prefer the quiet 
quarters — which is partly true; that we are doing our best 
to spend our money, but that, do what we will, there is al- 
ways a trouble — some one thousand marks over, which won’t 
be got rid of — which is not true at all. I shall offer it him 
as an indirect present to Nora, and Nora will secretly spend 
it on his dinners, and both will be all the happier ; you need 
not be afraid.” 

Hildegarde’s eyes flashed with amusement. She loved 
her mother in her triumphant, self-confident moods. 

“I do not think I was afraid — really,” she said. “I know 
by experience that you can twist most people round your 
finger. And Wolff is no exception.” 

She smiled to herself, and there was something wistful in 
her expression which Frau von Arnim was quick to perceive. 
She bent lower as though she wished to catch and interpret 
every shadow that' crossed her daughter’s face. 

“And you will be glad to see them again, Hildegarde? 
You are strong enough? It will not make you unhappy?” 

Hildegarde shook her head. 

“It is true when I say that I am longing to see them,” 
she said firmly. “I am happier — far happier now than in 
the time when I knew that, crippled though I was, Wolff 
would have married me, that I had only to stretch out my 
hand, as it were, for him to take it. It was so hard not to 
stretch out my hand ; I had to crush down my love for him, 
and throw scorn on myself for daring to love at all. Every 
day I was afraid that I might betray myself. Now it is 


A VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 183 


different. I can love him openly and honestly as my brother, 
and Nora I can love too without bitterness or envy as the 
one woman who could make him happy, or who was worthy 
of him. So you see, dearest, everything was for the best.” 

Frau von Armin nodded, satisfied by the steady, cheerful 
voice. 

“You have your reward,” she said. “Rightly enough, 
Wolff traces all his happiness back to you, and his love and 
gratitude are in proportion.” 

“To his happiness?” Hildegarde suggested, smiling. “In 
that case I ought to be more than satisfied. Although, 
perhaps, for my sake he tries to hide that fact, it is obvious 
from his letters that he never knew what the real thing 
was until Nora became his wife. And I believe it will be 
lasting. We know Nora so well. We know how good and 
loving and honest she is. I do not think she will ever dis- 
appoint him or us.” 

“And Wolff, of course, could not disappoint any one, not 
even though he were advertised as perfect,” Frau von Arnim 
observed shyly. “So we need feel no alarm for the future. 
And now I must go back to my accounts.” 

There was a long unbroken silence. Hildegarde seemed 
really asleep, or at least too deep in her own thoughts to 
notice the significant rumblings overhead, and her mother 
was frowning over the division of income, or rather the 
stretching of income over the hundred-and-one things nec- 
essary to the “keeping up of appearances.” The latter oc- 
cupation had been the constant worry of Frau von Arnim’s 
life. Her poverty had always been of the brilliant kind, 
but it had been poverty none the less for that, and now this 
change had come it was not even to be brilliant. Not that 
she felt any regret. The “brilliancy” had only been main- 
tained as a sort of sop to the family traditions, and now that 


184 


DIVIDING WATERS 


the family honor seemed to concentrate itself on Wolff, it 
was only natural that the other members would be ready to 
make every sacrifice to support him and save him from the 
curse of pecuniary troubles, which is the curse of two-thirds 
of the German nobility. So the old home was to be given up, 
and the old pill-box brougham and such of the family 
relics as would find no place in the narrow dimensions of an 
Stage were to drift into the hands of strangers. Both Frau 
von Arnim and Hildegarde, brought up in the stern code of 
their old race, found this course of events perfectly correct, 
and they would have done no less even if they had not cared 
for Wolff. Thus the frown upon Frau von Arnim’s brow 
was caused not so much by trouble or regret as by a natural 
dislike for the consideration of pfennige, and it was with a 
movement of almost relief that she looked up presently, 
aroused from her unloved task by the ringing of the front- 
door bell. 

“That must be Herr Sonnenthal again,” she said. “He 
has probably come to tell us how much the carriage has 
fetched. Would you mind if I saw him in here?” 

Hildegarde assented, but her mother’s supposition proved 
incorrect'. The untidy charwoman who put in her head a 
minute later informed them that there was a strange gentle- 
man down-stairs inquiring after a certain Fraulein whose 
name she, the charwoman, had not been able to grasp, and 
that, failing her, he had requested the honor of a few min- 
utes’ conversation with the gnadige Frau herself. 

Frau von Arnim looked puzzled as she studied the card. 

“I think there must be some mistake,” she said. “How- 
ever, show him up here.” 

For some reason or other nothing was said of the un- 
known visitor. It is possible that, as the wild beasts of the 
forest have an instinctive prescience of an enemy’s approach, 


A VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 185 


so we, in our higher world of sensitiveness, receive inde- 
finable warnings when a mischance is about to overtake us 
or a personality to enter into our lives and change its whole 
course. Certain it is that neither Frau von Arnim nor 
Hildegarde were fully at their ease as their visitor entered 
the room, and their response to his correct, somewhat stiff 
bow was marked by that frigidity which seems to ask of 
itself, “Who are you? What do you want with us?” 

Hildegarde had drawn herself up into a sitting position. 
The last two months had brought a marked change for the 
better in her health, and with a revival of the old strength 
had come a revival of the old pride and sensitiveness. She 
hated a stranger to see, and perhaps pity, her infirmity, and, 
moreover, on this occasion she was conscious of an inex- 
plicable restlessness. 

There was, at all events, nothing alarming in the stranger’s 
appearance. A tall, carefully dressed man, with a thin 
sunken face, and a manner suggesting at once breeding and 
embarrassment, stood in the doorway, evidently uncertain 
as to his own course of conduct. As the silence threatened 
to grow awkward, Frau von Arnim took the initiative. 

“From your card, and from what my servant tells me, I 
judge that you are English, Captain Arnold,” she said, 
motioning him to be seated. 

The visitor’s face immediately lightened, and he advanced 
into the room, without, however, making further use of her 
invitation. 

“I should be most thankful,” he said. “If my German had 
not been of such a negligible quality I should not have had 
to trouble you. Indeed, until I heard you speak I feared 
my difficulties were by no means at an end. I hope you will 
excuse my intrusion?” 

His sentences, like his manner, were somewhat wooden, 


186 


DIVIDING WATERS 


and not calculated to inspire any particular warmth in his 
hearers. Having briefly introduced him to Hildegarde, 
Frau von Arnim repeated her invitation, which he now ac- 
cepted, though with reluctance. 

“I shall be glad to be of any service to you,” Frau von 
Arnim said graciously. “English people are bound to me by 
at least one tie, and it is always a pleasure when I can assist 
any one of them. You need not apologize, therefore.” 

Arnold smiled, and his expression suggested that he ac- 
cepted her words as a formal politeness, and valued them as 
such. 

“You are very kind,” he said. “At the same time, I trust 
that I need not trespass too much on your good nature. I 
must explain that I have just returned from Africa, and 
Karlsburg lying on my overland route, I stopped in the hope 
that Miss Ingestre were still staying here. Your servant, 
however, did not understand my German, or did not recog- 
nize the name — ” 

“The latter is certain,” Frau von Arnim interrupted 
calmly. “The girl was not here when Miss Ingestre lived 
with us.” 

“Miss Ingestre has left, then?” 

“Already — some months.” 

Captain Arnold rose abruptly. It was evident that his 
mission was at an end. 

“In that case I do not need to trouble you further,” he 
said. “I came on a mere supposition. Had I not traveled 
so quickly I should no doubt have heard from Miss Ingestre 
herself, but I have been on the road night and day, missing, 
apparently, every mail, and getting a good start on my own 
letters. I shall now have to hurry on to England as fast 
as possible.” 

“If you wish to meet Frau von Arnim your journey will 


A VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 187 


be in vain,” Hildegarde said. “She is at present in Berlin.” 

Arnold turned, and for the first time looked steadily at the 
speaker. It was evident that the words had had no meaning 
for him, but there was a curious, apparently causeless, ani- 
mosity and distrust in her steady eyes which arrested his at- 
tention and aroused in him emotions of a like nature. It was 
as though unconsciously they had hated each other before 
all time, and that the hatred had now become a definite, 
recognizable quality. 

“You spoke of Frau von Arnim,” he said. “I am afraid 
I do not quite understand.” 

Hildegarde shrugged her shoulders. The movement was 
slightly insolent and utterly at variance with her usual gentle 
courtesy, but, like all nervous invalids, she could be goaded 
beyond all self-control, and something in this man’s manner 
jarred on her as presumptuous, overbearing, suggesting an 
impertinent familiarity with the woman who was Wolff’s 
wife. 

“I think you must undoubtedly have missed your letters,” 
she said; “otherwise you would know that Miss Ingestre 
ceased to exist many months ago.” 

The next minute she regretted her own clumsiness. The 
man’s whole bearing and expression had changed. His 
face was livid ; it was obvious that he had a hard task to con- 
trol an extraordinary agitation. 

“You must think me very stupid,” he said, and his voice 
was painful to listen to. “I beg of you to speak more 
clearly. You will perhaps understand what it means to me 
when I tell you what you seem not to know — that Miss 
Ingestre is to be my wife.” 

“Captain Arnold, you are laboring under some strange de- 
lusion. Miss Ingestre is already married.” 

It was Frau von Arnim who spoke. She had advanced ai- 


188 


DIVIDING [WATERS 


most unconsciously, and now stood halfway between him and 
Hildegarde, who had risen to her feet. 

Arnold said nothing. His eyes were fixed full on Frau 
von Arnim’s face, but his expression was absolutely blank, 
and he did not seem to see her. She waited, too disturbed 
to move farther forward along the path of inevitable ex- 
planation, and after a minute, in which the man’s whole 
moral strength seemed to be concentrated in the fight for 
self-mastery, Arnold himself broke the silence. 

“I can only believe that there is a misapprehension on both 
sides,” he said. “Are you speaking of Miss Nora Ingestre?” 

“Of Miss Nora Ingestre that was.” 

“And you say she is already married?” 

“In April — five months ago.” 

“To whom?” 

“To Hauptmann von Arnim, at present officer on the staff 
at Berlin.” 

“You are sure of what you say? There is no possible mis- 
take?” 

Frau von Arnim’s brows contracted proudly. For a brief 
moment she had sympathized with, and even pitied, his agita- 
tion. His rigid self-control, entailing as it did an increased 
abruptness of manner, impressed her disagreeably, hiding 
from her usually keen eyes the fact that the man was really 
suffering. She answered therefore, with considerable 
haughtiness : 

“There is no possible mistake. You will see that for your- 
self when I tell you that Herr von Arnim is my nephew, and 
that I myself was at the wedding at Delford.” 

Arnold bowed. His expression was now normal, and it 
suggested no more than the calm interest of an ordinary 
caller on an ordinary topic of conversation. 

“You are perfectly right,” he said. “There is no possible 


A VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 189 


mistake. I am very grateful to you for your explanation.” 

He included Hildegarde in his curt salute, and turned 
toward the door. 

Frau von Arnim detained him with a decided and indig- 
nant gesture. 

“The matter can not end there,” she said. “You have 
suggested that Miss Ingestre was engaged to you at the time 
of her betrothal with my nephew. It is a suggestion in- 
tensely offensive to us all. It is now my turn to point out to 
you that you are making a mistake — or worse.” 

Arnold colored with anger. 

“I am not likely to make a mistake of such magnitude,” 
he said. “Of your second insinuation I need take no notice.” 

“In that case I must ask you to be more explicit. I — we 
have a right to an explanation.” 

“Excuse me — I fail to see that any one has a right in a 
matter which concerns Miss Ingestre — Frau von Arnim, and 
myself alone.” 

“The matter concerns my nephew and us all.” 

Arnold smiled ironically. 

“I regret that I can not sympathize with your point of 
view,” he said. “In any case, I have no explanation to 
offer.” 

There was a blank silence. It was the more marked be- 
cause it followed on a sharp lightning-like exchange, kept 
within bounds of outward courtesy only by the education 
and upbringing of the conflicting personalities. Frau von 
Arnim, usually armed with a kindly wisdom which had sym- 
pathy for all sorts and conditions of men, was brought 
nearer to a display of uncontrolled anger than in all her life 
before. To her mind, Arnold had, unwittingly perhaps, 
cast a slur upon the credit of one who was a member of her 
family; and her family was Frau von Arnim’s fetish. He 


190 


DIVIDING WATERS 


had done so, moreover, without offering proof or justifica- 
tion, and the latter offenses deepened his guilt, though their 
omission would not have shielded him from her enmity. 

Arnold, on his side, saw a haughty, domineering woman 
who claimed the right to investigate a personal overwhelm- 
ing calamity in which she had no share, and with which he 
could as yet only grapple in blind, half -incredulous pain. He 
disliked her instinctively, but also because he could not 
understand the motives and principles which governed her 
conduct toward himself. He continued speaking after a 
moment, and his irritation was so intense that it helped him 
to overcome, almost forget, his own misery. 

“I think there is nothing more to be said,” he observed, 
looking Frau von Arnim coldly in the face. “It seems I 
have blundered, and it is only right that I should bear the 
brunt of the consequences alone. I am sure you will agree 
with me that it will be best for this — what has passed be- 
tween us — to be kept entirely to ourselves, to be forgotten. 
It can only bring trouble to others, and, as I have said, I 
am alone to blame.” 

In spite of everything, he was thinking of Nora, seeking 
to shield her from the results of his betrayal of a cruel 
duplicity. 

Frau von Arnim was thinking of Wolff, and of the woman 
to whom he had entrusted his happiness — above all things, 
their name.” 

“What you suggest is impossible,” she said. “There are 
things one can not forget— at least not until they have been 
explained. We must, therefore, look for the explanation.” 

“I have none to give,” Arnold returned, with bitter truth. 

“Then we must look elsewhere.” 

“It would be better to do as I suggest, and leave the mat- 
ter alone, or lay it to my account — to my, own stupid mud- 


r A VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 191 


die.” He spoke hurriedly, for he felt afraid of this woman, 
with her haughty, resolute face. It was as though, unwit- 
tingly, he has roused to action a force which had passed 
out of his control. 

“If there is any shadow of wrong connected with my 
nephew’s marriage, it must be cleared,” Frau von Amim 
answered. “That is the only wisdom I know.” 

Arnold bowed a second time, and went'. 

For a long time after he had gone the two women remained 
silent, motionless, avoiding each other’s eyes. 

Hildegarde had long since fallen wearily back upon her 
couch. She roused herself then, and turned her white, 
troubled face toward her mother. 

“The man must be mad !” she said almost violently. “Nora 
could never have done such a thing. She is so frank and 
honest. She would have told us from the beginning. I 
could have sworn that she never cared for a man before she 
loved Wolff. I do not believe a word of it.” 

“Nor I,” her mother answered calmly. “As you say, the 
man may be mad — though he did not seem so — or there may 
really be some mistake. But we must make sure, for our own 
peace of mind, and Nora is the only one who can help us. 
Even so we must have patience and wait. We have no right 
to trouble her so early in her married life with what, I pray, 
may be a false alarm.” 

“You must ask her when we are in Berlin,” Hildegarde 
said, in the same sharp, determined tone. “I could not see 
her every day like that and not know.” 

“You are quite right. When we are settled in Berlin 
I will tell her everything that has happened. Until then 
we must believe the best.” 

“Yes, of course — believe the best,” Hildegarde answered 
thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER V 


THE CUB AS LION 


HE express steamed in between the crowded platforms 



JL of the Potsdamer Bahnhof, and from one of the 
windows of a carriage labeled “Vlissingen” a rather sallow 
face and a loud voice announced the fact that Mr. Miles 
Ingestre had made his trumphal entry into the Fatherland. 

Nora, who had been threading her way through the crowd, 
with Wolff’s arm in hers, ran off and was received by her 
brother with that English prosaicness which has the ad- 
vantage of being equally admirable as Spartan disguise 
for rich and noble emotions or as an expression of no emo- 
tion at all. 

“Hullo, old girl, how are you?” 

“Very well, thanks. What was the journey like?” 

“Might have been worse. There were a lot of beastly 
Germans in the carriage, so of course the windows — ” He 
caught sight of Wolff, who had approached at a more 
leisurely pace, and his tone shaded down somewhat. “Hullo, 
Wolff, how are you?” 

They shook hands, and whilst the Gepacktrager was 
bustling around in search for the new-comer’s luggage, one 
of those painful silences threatened to set in which are the 
ghosts at all meetings where joy is too deep for words, or 
too shallow to stand much demonstration. Of the three, 
Miles himself was the only one who was sincerely in high 
spirits. They broke out in spurts and seemed regulated very 


192 


THE CUB AS LION 


193 


much by how far he was conscious of Wolff’s presence. It 
was evident that his respect for his brother-in-law had gone 
up several degrees since the afternoon when he had criticized 
the latter’s Karlsburg civilian clothes, though whether that 
respect had its source in a juster appreciation of his relative’s 
character or in the knowledge that Wolff was now master in 
his own country was hard to determine. Certain it is that 
he did his best to be amiable after his own fashion. 

“I assure you I have been simply wild to come,” he said 
as they made their way together toward the exit of the sta- 
tion. “It was as stale as ditch-water at home, and I was 
getting fairly fed up with it all. So I piled on my ‘nerves,’ 
as the pater calls them, and dropped a few hints about the 
place, which the old man picked up quite brightly — for him. 
He was really quite game about it, and sent all sorts of 
amiable messages to you, Wolff.” 

“Thanks. By the way, how long does your leave extend? 
You seem to be pretty liberal with that sort of thing in your 
army.” 

Miles chuckled. 

“My leave extends to all eternity,” he said enigmatically, 
and then, as he saw Nora’s astonished face, he condescended 
to explain. “I’ve chucked the army, you know. I thought 
the pater had told you. I was fairly fed up with the drudg- 
ery and the routine of it all. It wasn’t so bad at first. It 
gave one a kind of standing, and as long as there was plenty 
of money going a fellow could amuse himself fairly well. 
But when the pater began drawing in the purse-strings, I 
had enough of it. Ugh ! Imagine duty one-half of the day 
and trying to make both ends meet the other half! No, 
thanks !” 

He shuddered, and Nora looked at him anxiously. M 

“Then what are you going to do afterward?^ she asked ^ 


194 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Go into some business or other — something where one 
can make money as fast as possible. By the way, Wolff, 
is it true that you are on the general staff?” 

“Yes ; it is quite true, fortunately.” 

“I see — great gun. Hard work, though, I suppose?” 

“Yes — ” Arnim hesitated, as though on the point of 
making some remark, and then added innocently enough, 
“Perhaps you would have found it less of a drudgery than 
the usual routine, but scarcely remunerative enough.” 

Miles glanced uneasily at his brother-in-law, and then 
subsided, to all appearance suppressed, but Nora, who 
walked on his other side, caught a fleeting grimace, which 
was all too easy to translate into Miles’ vernacular. She was 
secretly thankful when her husband had seen them both into 
a cab and closed the door. 

“I shall be home late to-night,” he said. “Don’t stay up 
for me, dear, if you’re tired.” 

He waited on the pavement until they drove off, and 
Nora’s eyes sought to convey to him an unusual tenderness. 
There was indeed something remorseful and apologetic in 
her manner which she herself could hardly have explained. 
For the first time she was conscious of being almost glad 
that he was not coming home, and her sense of relief when at 
length the droschke actually started on its way was so keen 
that she felt herself guilty of disloyalty. “It is only the first 
evening,” she thought in self-defense. “They are such 
strangers to each other. Wolff might not understand Miles. 
It will be better when they know each other and are friends.” 

“Where is Wolff to-night?” Miles inquired, breaking in 
upon her troubled thoughts. “Any spree on?” 

“It is his Kriegsspiel night,” Nora answered. “He has 
to go.” 

Miles chuckled skeptically. 








A VISITOR ARRIVES IN KARLSBURG 195 


“Rather good for us, anyhow,” he said. “We can talk 
so much better, can’t we?” 

Nora was thankful for the half -darkness. The angry 
color had rushed to her cheeks. And yet her brother’s words, 
tacitly placing Wolff in the position of an outsider as they 
did, were little more than a brutalized edition of her own 
thoughts. 

“I hate it when he is not at home,” se said loyally. “Of 
course, to-night is different, but as a rule it is very lonely 
without him.” 

“But you have plenty of people who could come and see 
you?” 

“Y — es. Still, there are evenings when there is no one.” 

“Well, you have got me now,” said Miles consolingly. He 
was busy gazing out of the carriage window, and for a time 
the bustling, lighted streets occupied his whole attention. 
Nora made no attempt to distract him. She was not feeling 
very happy — not as happy as she knew she ought to be — 
and the fact worried her. Presently they turned into a quiet 
street and Miles sank back with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“It seems a lively enough sort of place,” he said. “I 
expect you have a gay time, don’t you?” 

“I am very happy,” said Nora, with unusual eagerness. 

“Yes, of course, but I meant gay — dances and dinners and 
all that sort of thing. The pater ran into some fellow who 
had just come back from a trip to Berlin, and he said the 
officers had no end of a time — were treated like the lords 
of creation ; in fact, especially if they had a bit of a title 
stuck on to their names. Wolff is a baron, isn’t he?” 

“Yes,” said Nora abruptly. 

“I thought so. Pater stuck him up a peg to this chap 
and said he was a count. Barons aren’t much in Germany, 
though. They’re as common as herrings.” 


196 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“They don’t think so,” Nora protested, hot with annoy- 
ance. “They think a good deal of it.” 

“Yes — snobs. That’s what this fellow said. However, 
I don’t mind. The good time is the only thing I care about, 
and you seem to have that all right, by your letters.” 

Nora’s brows contracted. In a rapid mental review she 
passed over everything she had ever written home, and re- 
considered it in the light of Miles’ possible judgment. Frau 
von Seleneck gave dinners. There were never more than 
four simple courses, whose creation, she proudly admitted, 
was owed almost entirely to her own skill. The orderly 
waited at table, and it was a standing joke that somebody’s 
dress or uniform had to pay for his too eager attentions. 
Nora remembered having written home that she had enjoyed 
herself immensely, and she had written in perfect ruth. She 
had happened to like the people on that particular occasion, 
and above all things Wolff himself had been there. This 
wonderful fact of Wolff’s presence was indeed sufficient to 
color the most dismal entertainment in Nora’s opinion; but 
in Miles’ opinion, she felt with painful certainty, it would 
have less than no effect. He did not love Wolff as sho did, 
and without love her “brilliant life” might, after all be more 
correctly viewed as a hard, if cheerful struggle against 
necessity. 

“There is always something going on,” she said at length ; 
“but you must not expect anything too wonderful, dear. 
People in Germany live much more simply than we — than in 
England, you know. And — we are not rich.” She made the 
last confession with an effort — not in the least because she 
was ashamed, but because — Nora herself could have given 
no explanation. 

Miles laughed. 

“I don’t expect you to live in a loft,” he said. 


THE CUB AS LION 


197 


Nora thought of their little fourth-floor flat and laughed 
too — also with an effort for which there was no possible 
reason. 

The droschke pulled up with a grind against the curb- 
stone, and a gruff voice informed them that they had arrived 
at their destination. Miles jumped out and looked about 
him doubtfully. 

“What a poky street !” he said, rather as though he thought 
the coachman must have made a mistake. “Is this really 
your house?” 

“Our flat is here,” Nora said. “We — we like it because it 
is so quiet.” 

And then she was ashamed of herself, because she knew 
that she had not been honest. 

Miles showing no intention of paying the coachman, she 
paid him herself out of her own slender purse, and they be- 
gan the ascent of the narrow stone steps which led to the 
heights of their Stage . She knew that Miles was rapidly 
becoming more puzzled, but she made no attempt to elucidate 
matters — indeed, could not have done so. Never before had 
she found the stairs so endless, so barren, so ugly. The 
chill atmosphere, which yet succeeded in being stuffy, seemed 
to penetrate into every corner of her heart and weight it 
down with a leaden depression. She did not look at Miles 
when they stood crowded together on the narrow landing, 
nor when her little maid-of-all-work, Anna, opened the door 
and grinned a more than usually friendly welcome. She led 
the way into the so-called drawing-room and switched on the 
electric light — their one luxury — half hoping that some mir- 
acle might have mercifully worked among the plush chairs 
and covered them with a much-needed elegance. But they 
stood as they had always stood, in spite of the most careful 
arranging in the world — stiff and tasteless as though they 


198 


DIVIDING WATERS 


had come out of the front window of a cheap furniture shop 
— which, in point of fact, they had — and would not forget 
that they were “reduced goods.” Nora had a kind of whim- 
sical affection for them — they were so hopelessly atrocious 
that it would have been uncharitable to criticize ; but to-night 
something like hatred welled up in her heart against their 
well-meaning ugliness. She had felt much the same when 
Frau von Seleneck had first visited her, but that lady had 
burst into such unfeigned raptures that the feeling had 
passed. But Miles said nothing, and his silence was, if ex- 
clamatory, not rapturous. 

' Nora turned to him. She was ashamed of her shame, but 
with all the will in the world she could only meet his wide- 
open stare with a sort of defiance which betrayed that she 
knew already what he was thinking, that she had even fore- 
seen it. 

“This is the drawing-room,” she said lamely. “We don’t 
often use it, though. It is not as — comfortable as the others.” 

“I should hope not,” he said. He was looking around him 
with such real and blank astonishment that poor Nora could 
have laughed if the tears of bitter humiliation had not been 
so near the surface. Bravely, and with the recklessness of 
one who feels that the worst is over and nothing else matters, 
she pushed open the folding-doors. 

“The dining-room,” she said, as though she were intro- 
ducing a poor relation of whom she was trying not to be 
ashamed. 

Miles inspected the imitation mahogany table and chairs 
with his eyebrows still at an elevated angle, but now less 
with surprise as with a supercilious disgust. 

“Is this where you have your dinner-parties?” he asked. 

Nora heard and understood the irony, and it gave her back 
her nerve and pride. 


THE CUB AS LION 


199 


“Yes,” she said. “We do not have them often, because we 
can not afford them. When we do we only have our best 
friends, and they find the room big enough and good 
enough.” 

Miles made no further observation, though his silence was 
a work of art in unexpressed things, and Nora led him to 
their little Fremdenzimmer. She had prepared it with the 
greatest care. There was a jar of flowers on the dressing- 
table, and everything smelled of freshness and cleanliness, 
but she had not been able to stretch its dimensions, and it 
was with unanswerable justice that Miles inquired where 
he was expected to keep his things. 

“You can keep one of your boxes under the bed,” Nora 
said in some confusion. “The others are being put in the 
corridor. I’m afraid you’ll have to go outside when you 
want anything. I am very sorry, dear.” 

“That’s all right,” Miles said, with sudden surprising 
amiability. “I’ll manage somehow.” 

Nora left him to make what toilet he chose, thankful to be 
alone for a moment. ,She went straight back to the drawing- 
room and faced each chair in turn with an unflinching eye. 
Her shame was over and her spirit was up in arms. In that 
moment she cared nothing for Miles’ opinion nor the 
opinion of the whole world. This was her home — her and 
Wolff’s home — and he who chose to despise it could shake 
the dust off his feet and go elsewhere. She could almost 
have embraced the ugliest chair, and she was so proud of 
her own loyal enthusiasm that she did not recognize it for 
what it really was — the last desperate refuge of her deeply 
humbled pride. She went about her work singing to herself 
— a thing she rarely did — and told herself that she was in 
excellent spirits. It cost her no effort to leave the dining- 
room door open whilst she laid the table. Let Miles see her ! 


200 


DIVIDING WATERS 


What did she care? And if he jeered and asked if she waited 
at her own dinner-parties or covered her little home with the 
wealth of his contempt, had she not one triumphant answer? 

“Small and poor it may be, but it contains everything I 
care for on this earth !” 

She felt so sure of herself that when her brother entered 
half an hour later, she lifted a face from which a happy 
smile had brushed away every sign of storm and conflict. 

“How quick you have been !” she cried. “And, oh, Miles, 
what a magnificent man !” 

He laughed self-consciously and glanced down at his 
immaculate evening clothes. 

“Not a bad fit, are they?” he said. “Poole’s, you know. 
I suppose you don’t change here, do you?” 

Nora flinched in spite of herself. 

“We do when we can,” she said, still cheerful; “but very 
often Wolf comes back so late that he has no time to do more 
than wash and slip into his Litewka. Poor fellow ! He has 
to work so frightfully hard.” 

Again Miles said nothing, and again Nora felt that his 
silence was more effective than the longest speech. But still 
borne on the high tide of her enthusiasm, she went on ar- 
ranging the knives and forks, and only her burning cheeks 
betrayed that she was not so entirely at her ease. Suddenly, 
to her complete bewilderment, she found Miles’ arm about 
her and her own head against his shoulder. 

“Poor little Nora !” he said. “Poor little sister !” 

Nora gasped. He had never been affectionate in his life 
before, and the tone of manly tenderness was so new as to be 
almost incredible. She threw back her head and looked into 
his face with mingled laughter and wonder. He was per- 
fectly serious, and for the first time it dawned on her that 
there was a real change in him which went deeper than the 


THE CUB AS LION 


201 


evening dress, that he had in fact left boyhood behind him 
and assumed something of the manners and bearing of 
a man, something, too, of his father, the Rev. John Ingestre. 
Gradually her smile died away under the undisturbed serious- 
ness of his gaze. 

“Why, what is the matter, Miles?” she asked. “I have 
never known you like this before.” 

He bent his head and kissed her. 

“It struck me when I was dressing that I had been a bit 
of a brute,” he said. “I am awfully sorry, dear. I had 
imagined everything so very different that it fairly took my 
breath away, and I said — well, what had no doubt been 
better left unsaid. I thought you had humbugged us and 
I was inclined to be angry. When I thought it over I saw 
how it all was and I was awfully sorry. Poor old girl !” 

She caught her breath, seeking wildly for words to answer 
him, but none came. She had been prepared for and armed 
against scorn, not against this brotherly sympathy! Sym- 
pathy ! What had she to do with sympathy? Sympathy was 
an insult to Wolff — an insult to their love ! 

With an effort she tried to free herself. 

“You don’t understand,” she stammered. 

“Oh, yes, I think I do,” he interrupted. “I understand all 
that you won’t tell me, because you are such a decent little 
soul ; and I will say this and no more : I wish to Heaven it 
had been another man, Nora, a fine English fellow who 
would have given you a decent English home. I wish it 
had been poor old Arnold—” 

“Miles, let me go !” 

She wrenched herself from his hands. She had seen 
what he had not seen — Wolff standing in the open doorway, 
watching them with a curiously pale, grave face. Had he 
heard, and if he had heard, had he understood ? N ora could 


202 


DIVIDING WATERS 


not tell. Furious with Miles and with herself, she ran 
to him and put her arms about his neck. 

“Oh, how glad I am that you have come!” she cried inco- 
herently. “You are just in time for supper. How did you 
manage to get away so early?” 

He kissed her upturned face. Lips and hands were icy. 

“I got special leave,” he said. “I thought” — a forced 
lightness struggled through his gravity — “I thought it was 
not good manners to desert my own table on the first evening. 
I am glad that I have managed — to come in time. I shall be 
ready in a minute.” 

He turned and went into his dressing-room, giving neither 
time to answer. Nora stared blankly after him. She felt as 
though she had allowed some one to strike him across the 
face without protest, and that he had gone away, not angrily, 
but wounded — perhaps beyond her powers of healing. 

“What a pity !” she heard Miles say behind her. “I had 
looked forward to our evening together.” 

Nora turned. In her anger and desperation, she could 
scarcely keep her voice under control. 

“Do not talk like that, Miles,” she said. “What you 
think of Wolff does not matter. I am his wife, and this is 
his home. Remember that !” 

Miles put his hand in his pocket and smiled. His smile 
suggested a perfect understanding. 

“I have said what I want to say,” he observed. “I shall 
not need to say it again.” 


CHAPTER VI 


IN WHICH THE REV. JOHN RECEIVES A SHOCK 

A FEW days after his arrival, Miles wrote home in the 
following terms : 

“My dear Father and Mother : 

“I have landed safely, as you know by my telegram, and 
I expect you are wondering why I have not written before. 
As a matter of fact, I wanted to have a look round me to 
see how things were before I broke the news to you. I tell 
you honestly, if it were not for Nora’s sake, and because, of 
course, I want to pick up some of the lingo, I should have 
packed up my trunks and come home by the next train. You 
know how Nora described things to us. You might have 
imagined them living in palatial apartments with a footman 
and I don’t know what to wait on them. 

“Well, my palatial apartment measured eight by eight, 
and when I get out of bed I have to take care that I don’t 
fall out of the window or into the water jug. As to the foot- 
man, he is a scrubby-looking orderly, who drops bits of 
potato down your collar whilst he is serving and can’t un- 
derstand a word you say to him. So much for my share of 
the grandeur. There are four other rooms and they have all 
about the same dimensions, and have evidently been fur- 
nished out of some second-hand place by some one who 
suffered from color-blindness. As to the atmosphere! 
Imagine a kitchen range with the fat in the fire and you 

203 


204 


DIVIDING WATERS 


have an idea. Of course, Nora, being English, keeps the 
windows open, but that’s not much good, because we look 
out on to houses in the front and dirty yards at the back; 
in fact, I shouldn’t think there was a breath of fresh air for 
miles around. Well, I was fairly thunderstruck, I can tell 
you, and I have been in varying stages of that condition ever 
since. 

“My first dinner — I had an appetite like a wolf — would 
have made any ordinary wolf turn tail. Nora said she had 
had had to leave it to the cook, and so everything had gone 
wrong. It had, and the only wonder is that I didn’t go 
wrong afterward. The soup was a miniature salt lake, the 
meat so tough I couldn’t get my knife through it, and the 
pudding — I never got to the bottom of that pudding, and I 
hope I never shall. It was a ghastly meal; Wolff was as 
glum as an undertaker, and Nora as near crying as she could 
be without coming to the real thing, and I wasn’t par- 
ticularly sprightly, as you can imagine. 

“However, at last I got to bed — or the thing which they 
call a bed — an iron affair with no springs that I could find, 
and a rotten, puffed-out air cushion for a covering, which 
fell off five times in the night and had to be fished up from 
the floor. At seven o’clock — seven o’clock, if you please ! — 
I was thumped awake by the orderly, who had planted a 
five-inch pot of lukewarm water in my basin. He jabbered a 
lot which I didn’t understand, and then of course I went to 
sleep again. At about nine I yelled for my bath, and in came 
Nora, looking awfully tired and worried. It seems she had 
been up ever since seven slaving at the house — I mean loft' — 
trying to get it shipshape before lunch. After a lot of fuss 
I got hold of Wolff’s hip-bath and had some sort of a wash, 
getting down to breakfast at ten. Breakfast! Coffee and 
rolls! Coffee and rolls! I wonder if I shall ever get a 


REV. JOHN RECEIVES A SHOCK 205 


square meal again. Wolff had already gone off and didn’t 
get back till lunch, when we had a new edition of supper 
(which, it appears, had been extra grand on my account) . He 
doesn’t seem to mind what he eats, and is always talking 
shop, which, I am sure, bores Nora as much as it does me. 

“What a beastly lot these German fellows think of them- 
selves and their beastly army ! He talks about it as though 
it were a sort of holy institution compared to which nothing 
else mattered, and goes clattering about the house with his 
spurs like a god on wheels. Thank Heaven he is not at home 
much, or we should be having rows in no time. Yesterday, 
for instance, I came down at ten for breakfast, and in the 
afternoon he spoke to me about it as though I were a sort of 
raw recruit — said it gave Nora a lot of extra work, and that 
he must ask me to be more punctual. I held my tongue for 
Nora’s sake, but I longed to give him a bit of my mind in 
good English. I longed to ask him why, if he is so keen on 
Nora being spared, he doesn’t see that she has a proper cook 
and housemaid, why he lets her work like a servant herself 
whilst he goes off and amuses himself — as I know he does. 
He can’t be badly off. His uniforms are spotless, and he 
has a ripping horse, which he rides every day. A lot of rid- 
ing Nora gets — except now and again on borrowed regi- 
mental hacks! As to the theater, she has only been twice 
since they were married — it’s too expensive in Berlin for- 
sooth! and I know for a fact that she has not had a new 
dress. I suppose all Germans treat their wives like that; 
but it makes my blood boil to think that Nora should have 
to put up with it. 

“As to their grand friends, I don’t think much of them. 
They all seem to live in the same poky style, and the dinner 
we were invited to the other day fairly did for me. We sat 
something like two hours over three courses, each one worse 


206 


DIVIDING WATERS 


than the other, and the people shouted and jabbered as 
though they were in a monkey-house. What with the food 
and the bad wine and the row, I hardly knew whether I was 
on my head or my heels. Wolff and I had a bit of a jar 
about it afterward. He said it was gemiitlich, or whatever 
the word is, and I said it was beastly and that wild horses 
wouldn’t drag me into such a show again, whereupon he had 
the cheek to inform me that I probably wouldn’t be asked 
and that he thought it was bad form to criticize one’s host 
because he didn’t happen to be rich. Nora was nearly in 
tears, so I held my tongue; but you can guess what I felt 
like. Imagine that foreigner trying to teach me good form ! 
Of course, I know, mother, that you had a weakness for 
Wolff, but you should see him in his own home — a selfish, 
bullying martinet, whose head I should be heartily delighted 
to punch. Perhaps I shall one day. Don’t worry about me, 
though. I shall be able to look after myself. 

“There is one rather nice fellow here — a Captain Bauer, 
who has been really decent to me and taken me about. He 
has rich relations with some style about them — if you only 
knew what an oasis ‘style’ is in this desert! — and I fancy 
they mean to give Nora and myself a good time. Wolff tries 
not to show how wild he is about it, though why he should 
mind I have no idea. Besides that, I have run up against 
some nice English fellows, and when I can’t stand things 
and feel in need of a square meal, I go out with them and 
have a run round. In any case I shall remain, for Nora’s 
sake. At the bottom, I believe she is wishing herself well 
out of the mess, and so I shall stay as long as possible to help 
her.” 

In answer to this description of Nora’s home life, the Rev. 
John wrote to his daughter an epistle fulminating in grief, 


REV. JOHN RECEIVES A SHOCK 207 


reproaches, sympathy, and advice. Let it be said in praise 
of his epistolary abilities, that without ever getting as far as 
“I told you so !” he implied that sentence at least once on 
every one of the eight closely written sheets. 

“My poor child !” he wrote at the close. “I can not tell 
you how this revelation has shocked and grieved me. Alas ! 
I can hardly call it revelation, for did not my father’s in- 
stinct prophesy everything as it has come to pass? I can 
not but admire your noble silence, your generous conceal- 
ment of the true facts of your life. I can understand how 
you wish to shield your husband from all reproach, and I 
am the last one to attempt to turn you from your duty to 
him. Nevertheless, I beseech you, give us your whole confi- 
dence. Let us help you to bear your burden, and if it should 
grow too heavy, remember that your home awaits you and 
that your father’s arms are always open.” 

Mrs. Ingestre had added a brief note to this long oration. 
The handwriting was less firm than of old, as though it had 
cost an effort, but the short, concise sentences were full of 
strength and insight. 

“Do you still love each other?” she asked. “For if you 
still love your husband and he still loves you, I need offer 
neither sympathy nor pity. You are to be envied, and I pray 
only that you will let no one — not even those dearest to you 
• — come between you and your great happiness. If Miles is 
stupid and troubles you, send him home.” 

This little note was first wept over and then hidden away 
in a secret drawer, but the letter went to the flames, thrown 
there by an angry, indignant hand. 

“How dare he !” Nora thought in a passion of resentment. 
“How dare any one pity me !” 


208 


DIVIDING WATERS 


And she sat down in that same hour and wrote home a 
protest and a defense which, it is to be feared, was often in- 
coherent and still more often lacking in respect. But her 
intention was clear. It was condensed in the closing sen- 
tences : 

“No one has the right to criticize my husband or my 
house. I love them both, and for me they are the most per- 
fect in the world. Those who really love me will do well to 
remember this and spare me both advice and misplaced, sym- 
pathy/’ 

After which, this declaration of war, she went out to meet 
Wolff and greeted him with a delight and tenderness which 
was almost feverish, almost too marked. It was as though 
she were saying to herself : “See how much I love him ! And 
if I love him nothing else can matter.” 


CHAPTER VII 


WOLFF SELLS A HORSE AND LOSES A FRIEND 

I N THE broad Exerzier-Platz of the Grenadier barracks 
a little group of officers were watching the paces of a 
handsome chestnut thoroughbred, which was being galloped 
and cantered past them for their inspection. Occasionally 
they exchanged a terse criticism, but for the most part they 
were silent, intent upon the business of the moment. The 
shorter of the three men — a somewhat languid-looking cap- 
tain of the Hussars — followed the movements of the rider 
with a professional admiration. 

“Too bad, Donnerwetter! really too bad !” he exclaimed, 
as Arnim at length rode up and swung himself out of the 
saddle. “That one fellow should have brains and a seat like 
that as well is a direct injustice. But you are wasted on the 
staff, my dear Arnim, sheer wasted. They don’t know what 
to do with such material — the langweilige Streber! But at 
the head of a Hussar squadron you would cut a figure — 
aaf Ehre, I would give a quarter’s pay to have you with us, 
and I know a Cavallerist when I see one. Here, let me try 
him. You would make an old cab-horse step out !” 

Wolff laughed shortly. 

“By all means, Herr Graf,” he said. “You will find that 
the credit of the performance is more Bruno’s than mine.” 

He stood aside and watched the count mount and ride 
slowly off to the other end of the square. His face had been 
flushed with the recent exercise and the natural joy which 

209 


210 


DIVIDING WATERS 


a man takes in his own skill and strength, but Seleneck, who 
was observing him closely, saw that the momentary animation 
had covered over unusual weariness — even depression. There 
were lines between the strongly marked brows which the elder 
man did not like. They were new to Wolff’s face, and be- 
tokened something more than mere mental strain. They in- 
dicated trouble, and trouble also of a new kind. 

With an affectionate movement, Seleneck slipped his arm 
through Wolff’s and led him a little apart, as though to 
point out some special feature in the count’s equestrian per- 
formance. In reality he was indulging in the grumble which 
had been choking him for the last hour. 

“What a silly fellow you are!” he said. “You have a 
horse which most of us would give our ears to possess, and 
you sell it for about half its value. I could hardly believe 
my senses when I happened to come down on you in the mid- 
dle of the transaction. It was the shock of my life.” 

“Your life must be remarkably free from shocks, then,” 
Wolff observed grimly. “It was at any rate one that I had 
every intention of sparing you.” 

“I have no doubt. You looked glum enough when I ap- 
peared. But that makes it worse. It proves that you know 
you are doing a silly thing, and are ashamed of it. Seriously, 
though, whatever has induced you to part with Bruno? You 
told me only the other day that there wasn’t another horse 
like it in Berlin.” 

“That was perfectly true. But that is no reason why I 
should keep such a paragon to myself.” 

Seleneck took another hasty inspection of his friend’s face. 

“Does it hurt to smile like that when you are losing your 
most treasured possession?” he asked quizzically. 

“You exaggerate things,” Wolf returned, with a movement 
of impatience. “If I find that I have no need of a horse in 


WOLFF LOSES A FRIEND 


211 


Berlin, that it is both a trouble and an expense, there is no 
need to immediately adopt a tone of high tragedy. Besides, 
Graf Stolwitz is giving a very fair price, from his point of 
view. X can not expect him to pay for my personal attach- 
ment to his purchase.” 

“If I did not know you as I do, I should think you had 
been gambling,” Seleneck said, in his turn slightly ruffled. 
“At any rate, I am not going to stand by and see the deed. 
Auf wiedersehen” 

Wolff’s ears, quick to catch and interpret every shade of 
tone, had heard the irritation in his friend’s voice, and he 
turned quickly, as though shaking off a weight of preoccupa- 
tion. • 

“Forgive me, lieber alter Kerl,” he said. I am a bear this 
afternoon, and ready to snap off anybody’s head. Don’t take 
any notice of me. And don’t worry about Bruno. Every- 
thing has its reason.” 

“You are working too hard,” Seleneck declared. “That’s 
what’s the matter with you. I shall speak to your wife.” 

“Please do nothing of the sort,” Wolff said firmly. “In 
the first place, it isn’t true ; and in the second, it would only 
worry her. Every man has his own battles to fight, and 
every man must fight them alone. Such is the law of things, 
and I am no exception.” 

“If such were the law of things I should have nothing 
more to say,” Seleneck retorted, “but the man who will nei- 
ther confide in his friend or his wife is running full-tilt 
against nature, and must pay for the consequences. If I did 
not let Elsa have her share of my fights, she would be per- 
fectly miserable — and with reason. I should be depriving 
her of the one thing that keeps a woman happy — trouble.” 

Wolff laughed. 

“You are an ideal couple,” he said. 


212 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“And you — are you not an ideal couple?” 

“Of course — ideal.” 

Seleneck waited a moment, as though he expected from 
Wolffs tone that there was more to come, but the younger 
man remained silent, to all appearances intent on watching 
the count, who was walking his purchase toward them. 
There was no irony or bitterness in his expression, but also 
none of the happiness which one might have expected from 
the one-half of an “ideal couple,” and Seleneck turned away 
with a sigh of resignation. 

“I think strategy and statistics and military secrets have 
gone to your head,” he said. “You are developing sphinx- 
like habits which are too much for my childish intellect. 
Still, when you want me you will know where to find me.” 

Wolff turned, as though struck by a sudden thought. 

“I want you now, Seleneck,” he said quickly. “At least, 
there is something I want your advice about. You know, I 
suppose, that my wife’s brother is staying with us?” 

“I heard something about it,” Seleneck admitted, with a 
sudden uneasiness. In truth, he had heard a great deal about 
it — from his wife. Hitherto, neither Nora nor her brother 
had called at the little flat, and this deliberate, inexplicable 
breach of etiquette had grown to be something worse than a 
grievance in Frau von Seleneck’s usually pacific heart. But 
Seleneck knew himself to be no diplomatist, and held his 
peace. 

“Well, I fancy that time hangs pretty heavy on his hands. 
Of course, I am too busy to do much in the entertaining 
line — and I have an idea that I am too German for his taste. 
At any rate, my wife is very anxious that he should see some- 
thing more of Berlin life — the social life, you know — and 
that he should have a — a good impression.” 

“I can quite understand that,” Seleneck said slowly. 


WOLFF LOSES A FRIEND 


213 


‘‘We’ll do everything we can. Let me see, Elsa was talking 
of giving a little dinner next week. I’ll tell her to include 
him in the invitation.” 

“Thank you,” Wolff answered. He was staring hard in 
front of him, and an uncomfortable flush had mounted his 
cheeks. “It’s very good of you both,” he added, as though 
ashamed of his own lack of enthusiasm. “As a matter of 
fact, Miles has found entertainment enough for the present. 
He has picked up with Bauer, who appears to have some 
rich relations here. My — my wife has got to know them, 
too.” 

“Yes, so I heard,” Seleneck observed grimly. 

Wolff looked up, frowning. 

“Is there any objection?” he demanded. 

“I don’t know, alter Junge ” Seleneck hesitated, conscious 
again of a failing diplomacy, but goaded on by sense of duty, 
“The Bauers are immensely wealthy, but they do not belong 
to our set, and Bauer himself is not the sort of man to whom 
I should like to trust a young fellow — or, indeed, any one,” 
he added almost inaudibly. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Seleneck faced the stern eyes with the courage of despera- 
tion. 

“I mean — I feel I ought to tell you — your wife’s intimacy 
with the Bauers is causing ill-feeling. It is all nonsense, of 
course, but you know how it is — people talk. Forgive me 
for putting it plainly — Bauer has a bad reputation. 
They say he has already escaped dismissal from the army by 
a hair’s-breadth. It is well to be careful.” He waited a mo- 
ment, and then went on, “It has been on my mind some time, 
Wolff. I felt I ought to warn you, but was afraid you might 
take it amiss.” 

Wolff shook his head. 


214 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“You have only told me what I already suspected,” he said 
quietly; “and of course, now that I know, I shall speak to 
Nora about it. She will see how it is at once. It is all my 
fault — I should have taken more care. And then, there is 
another thing — ” 

“Is it anything in which I can help?” Seleneck asked, as 
Wolff again hesitated. “You know you have only got to say 
what it is. There need be no humbug between us.” 

“No; that's true.” 

Seleneck waited patiently, seeing that whatever it was 
Wolff found it difficult to express the matter on his mind. 
He was digging his spurred heel into the sand and frown- 
ing, not in anger, but with a curious shamefaced embarrass- 
ment. 

“It’s this,” he said at last. “You know how it was, Kurt, 
when we first came here. Of course we did the duty round 
of visits and so on, and went out in a quiet way, but we kept 
as clear as we could of the swell affairs. I made my work 
the excuse, and it was quite an honest excuse, though of 
course there were other reasons. Now I think it was a mis- 
take. I think, for my own advantage, I ought not to have 
refused certain invitations — one gets a bad name at head- 
quarters — or is passed over ; and if it were possible I should 
like to get back on the lists again — ” 

He stopped short, and Seleneck stared at him in puzzled 
silence. For the first time he had the opportunity of study- 
ing Wolff in a state of thorough confusion. 

“Of course, that is easy enough,” he said at last. “But all 
that sort of thing entails heavy expense and — ” 

“I think the expense justified,” Arnim broke in hastily. 
“I am convinced that a certain outlay — a certain ostentation, 
if you like — is necessary to a rapid career. And I should be 
immensely grateful to you if you would help me.” 


WOLFF LOSES A FRIEND 


215 


“But your work — and the money?” Seleneck inquired 
bluntly. 

“Both are my affairs,” was the quick, irritable answer. 
The next minute he repented, and held out an apologetic 
hand. “I don’t know what is the matter with me,” he said. 
“I’m not fit companion for a savage. Don’t take me seri- 
ously, there’s a good fellow, and lend me a helping hand this 
once. I want it badly.” 

Seleneck shook his head. 

“As you have just suggested, you know your own business 
best,” he said gravely, “and I shall certainly do what I can. 
My uncle, the General Hulson, is giving a ball some time 
this winter. I and the wife aren’t going. We can’t afford 
it. But I daresay I could get you invitations ; and once you 
are in the tide you will be able to swim on for yourselves. 
All the same” — he laid a kindly hand on Wolff’s shoulder — ■ 
“I can only tell you what you yourself know, that the officer 
who burns his mental and financial resources at both ends is 
lost. Es ware Schade um dich , alter Junge!” 

Wolff smiled. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I shall take care of myself, and, 
at any rate — thanks for helping me.” 

The Hussar had by now finished his trial, and Seleneck, 
with a general salute, hurried out of the barracks. He was a 
sensitive man who felt a good many things acutely which 
his brain did not understand, and something in his friend’s 
manner caused him an unexplained distress. He knew that 
Wolff had changed — his very actions were proof of the fact. 
It was not like him to part with an animal to which he was 
attached with the real affection of a good rider for a good 
horse ; it was not like him to seek steps to his advancement 
in the patronage of his superiors. Wolff had never been a 
“place-hunter.” Whilst always a favorite with those under 


216 


DIVIDING WATERS 


whom he served, he had not sought their favor by any other 
means than his ready goodwill and the vigorous, unsparing 
fulfilment of his duty. And now he was talking of dancing 
attendance at every general’s levee like any common Streber 
for whom all means are good enough so long as the end is 
attained. 

Seleneck sighed as he hurried homeward. Yes, the change 
in his friend was there right enough, and it had left its trace 
on the man’s whole bearing. He had been neither as frank 
nor as cheery nor as self-confident as was his wont, and 
there had been a grim determination in his voice and manner 
which warned against all interference. Above all things, no 
laughter and forced good spirits had concealed the fact that 
he was not at his ease. His whole newly-born gravity had 
borne more the stamp of the stiff-lipped recklessness of an 
adventurer than the sober determination of a good soldier 
seeking a short cut to success; and Seleneck, who felt for 
Wolff an ungrudging admiration, boded no good for the 
future if the change continued. “I have seen a few dozen 
fellows go like that,” he thought to himself, “and it has al- 
ways ended in breakdown. Only in their case it was horses 
or cards, and I’ll wager that neither play any part in Wolff’s 
trouble. I wonder what the devil is the matter?” 

He was still wondering when he reached home, after an 
unusually tedious and disagreeable walk. More than once 
he had been tempted to take the tram, in order to be quicker 
home to Elsa and the comfort of shifting on to her willing 
shoulders the burden of his doubts ; but the consideration of 
expense held him back. After all, trams become too easily 
a habit. So Freiherr von Seleneck had walked, and those 
who had observed him had envied the immaculate uni- 
form and the lordly bearing, making no guess at the empty 
pockets of the one and the entire innocence of the other. For 


WOLFF LOSES A FRIEND 


217 


lordliness and Seleneck were unknown to each other ; and if 
he bore himself with a certain unconscious assertiveness, it 
was because he wore the king’s uniform, and not in the least 
because he thought himself a great man. 

Somewhat to his surprise and disappointment, his wife was 
not at the door to receive him when he arrived. The Bursche 
who helped him off with his coat told him the gnadige Frau 
had visitors and was in the drawing-room. Thither Seleneck 
at once repaired. Usually a sociable and hospitable man, he 
felt' he could have dispensed with guests in the one hour of 
the day when he was certain of his wife’s undivided company, 
but his slight annoyance evaporated as soon as he saw who 
the visitors were. Nora herself occupied the sofa, and her 
fair young face, lit by a faint, almost embarrassed, smile of 
greeting, inspired Seleneck with the brilliant reflection that 
she had no doubt come to confide the trouble, whatsoever it 
was, to his wife’s sympathetic ears. The hope was immedi- 
ately dispelled, however, by Frau von Seleneck herself, who 
drew his attention to the presence of a young man seated at 
the other end of the room, nursing an elegantly booted foot 
with the air of profoundest boredom. 

“I do not think you have met before,” she said. “This is 
Frau von Arnim’s brother — Mr. Ingestre.” 

Seleneck accepted the languidly outstretched hand with a 
feeling so akin to alarm that he caught little more than a 
general impression of his guest’s appearance. It was not 
often that his good-natured, easy-going wife rose to heights 
of real indignation, but when she did, the signs of storm 
were not absent, and he had recognized them all too clearly 
in the rather high-pitched voice and flushed face. Moreover, 
he became now acutely aware of a certain strained politeness 
in the atmosphere which had hitherto been unknown in the 
relations between the two women. Once he even caught 


218 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Nora’s eyes fixed on his with such an expression of trouble 
in their depths that he was convinced something unpleasant 
had happened, and became almost indignant with his Elsa, 
who firmly refused to allow the conversation to flow in any 
but the most cold and formal channels. The young man 
took no part in the talk, halting and spasmodic as it naturally 
became. He appeared to know no German; and as Sel- 
eneck’s English was of a limited description, intercourse be- 
tween them was more or less impossible. Seleneck took the 
opportunity to study this new arrival, of whom he had in- 
deed heard little that was complimentary; but his cautious 
survey gave him no great satisfaction. In truth, Berlin and 
the few weeks of unlimited freedom had not improved Miles. 
He was, as always, scrupulously dressed and had a certain air 
of the “man-about-town” which contrasted with his other- 
wise uneasy and rather boorish manners. It was a little hard 
to imagine that he had ever held a lieutenant’s commission, 
still harder to believe that he was Nora von Arnim’s brother. 
There was no resemblance between the two, as Seleneck no- 
ticed with satisfaction. Miles’ face was round and sallow, 
and he had a peculiar trick of furtively glancing about him 
which was directly opposed to Nora’s frank and at that mo- 
ment defiant gaze. As a matter of fact, though his critic did 
not know it, Miles had developed on his father’s lines, with 
the one difference that the Rev. John’s habits were those of a 
naturally nervous and diffident character, whereas Miles, 
having no nerves to complain of, had still a rooted objection 
to looking any one in the face. As he sat, alternately staring 
at the carpet and casting curious, supercilious glances round 
the poorly furnished drawing-room, Seleneck passed judg- 
ment on him. 

“You drink, and can’t stand it,” he thought, and then, re- 
membering Bauer, added, “and probably gamble.” 


WOLFF LOSES A FRIEND 


219 


Which proved that Seleneck, though neither a diplomatist 
nor a strategist, was at least something of a judge of char- 
acter. 

At that moment Nora rose hastily to her feet. The con- 
versation had languished beyond hope of recovery, and more- 
over, she had seen something in her host’s expression which 
made her cheeks burn with a curious mixture of shame and 
anger. 

“We must really go,” she said nervously. “We have stayed 
far too long — I hope you will forgive us.” 

“It is always a pleasure to see you, gnadige Frau,” Sele- 
neck answered warmly. “You know that your welcome is al- 
ways waiting you. And that reminds me — we are giving a 
little dinner next week — quite entre nous, you know — and 
of course it would not be complete without you and Wolff. 
And your brother” — he turned to Miles with a bow, which 
was answered by a blank stare — “I hope will do us the 
honor.” 

He had spoken with unusual kindness, because he felt that 
his thoughts at least, had not been altogether hospitable, and 
he had every desire to atone to Nora as far as lay in his 
power. A cough from Frau von Seleneck warned him that 
he had instead been guilty of a mysterious faux pas. N ora’s 
color had deepened, and she was playing restlessly with her 
gloves. 

“It’s very good of you,” she stammered. “Frau von Sel- 
eneck has also asked me — it was very kind. Of course I shall 
tell Wolff, and we will let you know.” 

The puzzled officer saw a scornful, angry smile pass over 
his wife’s face ; and feeling that he was altogether out of his 
depths, he kissed the extended hand and prepared to show 
his guests to the door of the flat. 

At the general preparations for departure Miles Ingestre 


220 


DIVIDING WATERS 


awoke from his dreary contemplation of the imitation Turk- 
ish carpet and, extricating one hand from his pocket, prof- 
fered it all round with signs of sincere relief. Frau von 
Seleneck bowed and ignored the offer, and her farewell with 
N ora was marked with a not less striking, if more inexplica- 
ble, rigidity. 

Five minutes later, when her husband returned from his 
host’s duties, he found her in floods of angry tears. 

“Mein liebes Kind !” he exclaimed in despair. “What- 
ever is the matter? Has anything serious happened?” 

“I have been insulted in my own house!” the little woman 
retorted, dabbing her eyes fiercely with a minute pocket- 
handkerchief. “I should hope that was serious enough !” 

1 “Insulted! By whom?” 

“By that — that English creature !” 

“Do you mean Frau von Arnim? But, Menschenkind ! — 
she is your best friend !” 

“She is nothing of the kind. She is a conceited, preten- 
tious, arrogant — oh ! I don’t know what, but I know I hate 
her with all my heart. And as for that brother — ” With a 
determined effort she swallowed down a torrent of adjec- 
tives and sobbed huskily instead. 

Seleneck seated himself on the arm of her chair and patted 
her on the shoulder. 

“Perhaps one day you’ll tell me all about it,” he suggested, 
and waited patiently for results. 

After a moment, the desire to tell her story overcame the 
desire to have a good cry, and Frau von Seleneck, leaning 
her head against her husband and squeezing his hand vio- 
lently at moments of more than usual indignation, related the 
incidents which had led up to this climax. It appeared, in 
the first place, that Nora had arrived at an entirely inoppor- 
tune moment. 


WOLFF LOSES A FRIEND 


221 


“I was in the middle of making something extra for your 
supper,” Elsa von Seleneck explained. “I shan’t tell you 
what it is, as it is a surprise, and may still turn out all right, 
though I should think it was very doubtful, because Bertha 
is such an unutterable fool. At any rate, had it been any 
one else I should have been very angry, but as it was N ora I 
didn’t mind so much. I told Bertha to bring her into the 
kitchen, but then she said she had brought her brother with 
her, so I came out. Well, of course I wasn’t as tidy as I 
might have been, but — look at me, please, Kurt. Is there 
anything in my appearance to warrant anybody giggling?” 

Seleneck looked at his wife gravely. She was very flushed 
and hot, and there was a suspicion of flour on the tip of her 
nose, which might have aggravated a ticklish sense of hu- 
mor ; but Seleneck knew better than to say so. 

“Certainly not!” he said. “Who dared giggle, pray?” 

“That — that boy!” Frau von Seleneck retorted. “Nora 
looked fearfully upset, and at first I thought she was 
ashamed of him, but afterward I knew better — I knew she 
was ashamed of me !” 

“My dear !” her husband protested. 

“It’s true — perfectly true. You wouldn’t have recognized 
her. You know how sweet she was when she first came — so 
nice and grateful and simple — I really had quite a 
Schwarmerei for her. Everybody had — they couldn’t help 
it. She won all hearts with her broken German and her girl- 
ish, happy ways. Well, to-day she was intolerable — stiff as 
a poker, my dear, and as disagreeable as a rheumatic old 
major on half-pay. I couldn’t get a friendly word out of 
her, and all the time I could see her studying my dress and 
the furniture, as though she were trying to find the prices 
on them. As for that boy, he went on giggling. Every time 
I made an English mistake he sniggered” — the little worn- 


222 


DIVIDING WATERS 


an’s voice rose with exasperation. “He tried to hide it be- 
hind his hand, but of course I saw, and it made me so angry 
I could have boxed his ears !” 

“Pity you didn’t,” said Seleneck. “Dummer Junge!” 

“That wasn’t the worst. I tried to be friendly. I asked 
them both to dinner next week — and what do you think? 
She looked ever so uncomfortable, and said she was very 
sorry, but she was afraid they could not manage it. I don’t 
know what excuse she meant to give, but that — that boy went 
and blurted the truth out for her. It appears that he had 
been to a dinner-party last week and had been bored to ex- 
tinction. At any rate, he said that wild horses, or some such 
creatures, wouldn’t drag him to another business like that, 
and then he set to work and made fun of everything. My 
dear, I don’t know what dinner it was, but it was exactly like 
ours will be — exactly, from the soup to the cheese !” 

Seleneck pulled his mustache thoughtfully. 

“He wasn’t to know that,” he said in faint excuse. 

“But Nora knew, and she never said a word, never even 
tried to stop him; and when I said that I thought it was 
very bad manners to make fun of people whose hospitality 
one had enjoyed, she flared up and said that her brother was 
English, and that English people had different ways, and 
couldn’t help seeing the funny side of things — she saw them 
herself !” 

Seleneck got up and paced about restlessly. The matter 
was more serious than he thought, and an instinctive wisdom 
warned him that for the present at any rate it would be bet- 
ter to keep his troubles about Wolff to himself. 

“I wonder what is the matter with them all?” he said at 
last. “Of course, the brother is simply an ill-behaved cub, 
but I confess I do not understand Frau von Arnim. She was 


WOLFF LOSES A FRIEND 


223 


always so amiable, and everybody thought Wolff the luckiest 
fellow alive — except myself.” 

“I can tell you exactly what is the matter,” his wife said 
more calmly and with some shrewdness. “Marriage, after 
all, doesn’t work miracles, and Frau von Arnim is no more 
German than I am Chinese. She is English right to the core, 
and at the bottom of everything she despises and hates us 
and our ways. They are not good enough for her any more, 
and she wants to go back to her own life and her own people. 
It was all right so long as she was alone with Wolff in the 
first few months. One didn’t notice the gulf so much, but 
now she has her brother to remind her and support her, it will 
widen and widen. See if what I say is not true !” 

“It’s a very bad outlook for poor Wolff if it is true,” Sel- 
eneck said gloomily. “He is absolutely devoted to her.” 

“Nevertheless, it will end badly,” his wife answered, pre- 
paring to make her departure. “It is I who tell you so. 
Race and nationality are dividing oceans, and the man who 
tries to bridge them is a fool, and deserves his fate.” 

And with these words of wisdom she disappeared into the 
mysterious region of the kitchen. 


CHAPTER VIII 


RISING SHADOWS 

N ORA sat by the window and mended stockings. There 
was not very much light, for although it was still early 
afternoon and the winter sun stood high in the heavens, very 
few rays found their way into the fourth-floor rooms of Num- 
ber twenty-two, Adler Strasse. As Miles had said more than 
once, it was a poky hole. Nora remembered his words as she 
worked, and she looked up and studied the tiny apartment 
with a wondering regret. Yes; it was dark and poky; but 
why did the fact strike her so clearly and so constantly ? Why 
was she doomed to see everything and everybody with an- 
other’s eyes? For that was what had happened to her. One 
short month ago, this place had been her paradise, her own 
particular little Eden, and now it was a “poky hole” — because 
Miles had said so and because her common sense told her that 
he was right. Had, then, the magic which had blinded her 
against the reality ceased to act its charm — or altogether lost 
its power? Surely not. Her eyes fell on her husband’s writ- 
ing-table, with its burden of neatly arranged books and pa- 
pers, and something in her softened to wistful tenderness. In 
her imagination she saw him sitting there, bent over his work 
in all-absorbed interest. She saw the thoughtful, knitted 
brows, the strong white hand guiding the pen through the in- 
tricacies of plans and calculations, the keen, searching eyes 
which were never stern for her, which, if they no longer 
flashed with the old unshadowed laughter, were always filled 

224 


RISING SHADOWS 


225 


with the same unshaken, unaltered love. And she in her 
turn loved him. That she knew. There, and there alone, 
her brother’s barbed shafts had fallen short, or had broken 
harmless against the steeled walls of defense. Her husband 
was still what he had always been — the one and only man 
who had ever counted in her life. But there was a difference. 
What the difference was she could not tell. Perhaps just 
that change had come into her love which had come into his 
eyes. It was still a great love, still unshaken, but it had lost 
the power of glorying in itself, of being happy, of rejoicing 
in its own strength and youth and unity. When Wolff en- 
tered the room her pulses quickened, but it was with a curi- 
ous, inexplicable pain, and wnen he went away she breathed 
more easily. That most wonderful and rare of moments 
when they had thought and felt and lived as though they 
were one mind, one body, one soul had passed — perhaps for 
ever. They stood on different shores and looked at each 
other over the dividing stream with sad eyes of love and 
hopeless regret. 

How had it all come? Whose fault was it? Poor Nora 
felt she knew. The specter had risen in the same hour when 
Miles had leaned back in the Droischke and sighed with re- 
lief because Wolff had not accompanied them. She had been 
angry at first, but the rough words had revealed something 
to her which she would never otherwise have believed, some- 
thing in herself which had lain dormant and which now 
awoke, never to rest again. It was not Miles’ fault. Had 
it been, she would not have hesitated to follow her mother’s 
advice. But to have sent him away would be a sign of weak- 
ness — and if would be useless. The evil — whatsoever it was 
— lay in herself. It had always been there, but she had not 
recognized it. Miles had shown her what she must sooner 
or later have seen for herself. She had married a stranger 


226 


DIVIDING WATERS 


from a strange land, and he had remained a stranger, and 
the land had not become her home. That was the whole 
matter. That she loved him, that his country had offered 
her love and welcome did not alter the one great fact that 
the faintest cry, the faintest call from her own people had 
drawn from her an irrepressible answer of unchanged alle- 
giance. She loved Wolff, but in every petty conflict between 
him and her brother her heart had sided against him; she 
had had a sincere affection for the Selenecks, and in cold 
blood she knew very well that Miles had behaved boorishly 
toward them; but she had grown to hate them because 
they had shown their disapproval, and because he hated 
them. 

In this strange, unseen conflict of influences Miles stood 
for more than her brother ; he stood for her whole race, for 
every inborn prejudice and opinion, and his coming had re- 
vealed to her her own loneliness. She was alone in a foreign 
land ; and she spoke a tongue which was not her tongue ; she 
lived a life in which she was, and must remain, a tolerated 
stranger. Her seeming compliance had been no more than 
youth’s adaptability to a passing change. Her love and her 
ready enthusiasm had blinded her, but Miles had torn down 
the scales £rom her eyes, and she saw the life she lived as he 
saw it — as a weary round of dismal pleasures, big sacrifices, 
endless struggle. She saw that her home was poor and taste- 
less, that her friends were neither elegant nor interesting, 
that they had other ideas, other conceptions of things which 
to Nora were vitally important — that they were, in a word, 
foreigners to her blood and up-bringing. 

It had been a terribly painful awakening, and in her des- 
perate flight from the full realization of the change in her 
she had broken through the circle which hedged in her life, 
and sought her escape on the turbulent sea of another, more 


RISING SHADOWS 


227 


gilded society. She had tried to intoxicate herself with the 
splendor and popularity so easily acquired. The Frau Com- 
merzienrat Bauer had received her with open arms, had show- 
ered upon her delicate and sometimes indelicate attentions; 
she had been feted at the gorgeous entertainments given in 
her honor at the over-decorated “palatial residence;” she 
had seen Miles’ expression of contemptuous criticism change 
for one of admiration, herself surrounded by the adulation 
of men who, she was told, governed the world’s finance; she 
had heard the Frau Commerzienrat’s loud voice proclaim 
her as “My dear friend, Frau von Arnim” — and at the bot- 
tom of her heart she had been nauseated, disgusted, wearied 
by it all. She had come back to the close and humble quar- 
ters of her home with a sweet sense of its inner purity and 
dignity, with the determination to make it the very center of 
her life. And then she had seen her husband’s grave — as it 
seemed to her, reproachful — face, the freezing disapproval 
of his circle, the mocking satisfaction of her brother; and 
the momentary peace had gone. She had felt herself an 
outcast, and, in hot, bitter defiance of the order of things 
against which she had sinned, had returned thither, where 
the opium flattery awaited her. But through it all she loved 
her husband, desperately, sincerely. As she sat there bent 
over her work, she though of him in all the glamour of the 
first days of their happiness, and a tear rolled down her 
cheek, only to be brushed quickly away as she heard his foot- 
step on the corridor outside. 

“How tired he sounds!” she thought, and suddenly an 
immense pity mingled with the rekindling tenderness, and 
shone out of her eyes as she rose to greet him, like a reflex 
from earlier days. 

He looked tired to exhaustion. The rim of his helmet had 
drawn a deep red line across his broad forehead, and there 


228 


DIVIDING WATERS 


were heavy lines under the eyes. Nevertheless, his whole 
face lit up as he saw her. 

“May I come in, Nora?” he asked, with a glance at his 
dusty riding-boots. “We have been surveying, and I am not 
fit for a lady’s drawing-room ; but if I tiptoed — ” 

“Of course you may come in,” she cried cheerfully, thank- 
ful that the light was behind her. “I have been waiting for 
you, and tea is quite ready. Sit down, and I will bring you a 
cup.” 

He obeyed willingly, and followed her with his eyes as she 
bustled around the room. It was like old times to find her 
alone, to see her so eager to attend to his wants. When she 
came to him with his cup he drew her gently down beside 
him, and she saw that his face was full of tender gratitude. 

“You kind little wife!” he said. “It’s worth all the fa- 
tigue and worry just to come back and be spoilt. What a 
long time it seems since we were alone and since you ‘fussed’ 
over me, as you used to call it.” 

There was no reproach or complaint in his voice, and yet 
she felt reproached. She lifted her face to his and kissed 
him remorsefully. 

“Have I neglected you, Wolff?” 

“Not a bit, dear. I only meant — of course, one can’t go 
on being newly married for ever, but it has its charm to go 
back and pretend; hasn’t it?” 

“You talk as though w'e had been married for years!” 
she said in a troubled tone. “And it is scarcely seven 
months.” 

“Seven months can be a long time,” he answered gravely. 
“It all depends on w T hat happens.” 

She had her head against his shoulder, and suddenly, she 
knew not why nor how, she was transported back to that 
magic hour when he had first taken her in his arms and 


RISING SHADOWS 


229 


an unhoped-for, unbelievable happiness had risen above her 
dark horizon. In a swift-passing flash she realized that this 
was the man for whom she had fought', who had been every- 
thing to her, without whom life had been impossible, and 
that now he was hers, her very own, and that she had been 
cruel, unfaithful and ungrateful. She flung her arms im- 
petuously about his neck and drew his head down till it 
rested against her own. 

“Oh, Wolff, Wolff!” she cried. “Are you so very dis- 
appointed in me? Has it only needed six months to show 
you what a hopeless little failure I am?” 

“You — a failure?” He passed his hand gently over her 
hair. “You could never be a failure, and I should be an 
ungrateful fellow to talk of ‘disappointment.’ You are just 
everything I thought and loved, my English Nora.” 

The name aroused her, startled her even. Was it only 
because it emphasized what had already passed unspoken 
through her mind, or was it because it seemed to have a 
pointed significance, perhaps an intended significance? 

“Why do you call me ‘English Nora’?” she asked, with 
an unsteady laugh. “I am not English any more. I am 
your wife, Wolff, and you are ein guter Deutscher , as you 
say.” 

He nodded, his eyes fixed thoughtfully in front of him. 

“Yes, I am German, bone and blood,” he said. “That’s 
true enough. And you are my wife. I wonder, though — ” 

He stopped, and then suddenly he bent and lifted her 
like a child in his arms and carried her to the big chair 
opposite. 

“Now I can see you better,” he said quietly. “I want 
to ask you something -which your face will tell me better 
than your words.” 

He had fallen on one knee beside her and was looking 


230 


DIVIDING WATERS 


her earnestly in the eyes. She bore his scrutiny, but only 
with a strong effort of the will. She felt that he was look- 
ing straight into the secret places of her heart, that he was 
reading the pain that her words, “I am not English any 
more,” had caused her and realizing how little they were 
true. 

“Tell me,” he said, “are you happy, Nora? Are you not 
the one who is disappointed?” 

“I ? Wolff, how should I be? How could I be?” 

“All too easily — sometimes I think inevitably. I am not 
blind, Nora. I see how petty and small your life must be 
compared to what you perhaps thought — to what might 
have been. The people you meet are accustomed to it all — 
at least they have learned to make the best of what little they 
have; but you have come from another world and another 
life. You are accustomed to breadth and light and freedom. 
You have never known this brilliant poverty which we know 
so well, and it is hard on you — too hard on you. I have 
never seen it all so clearly as I see it now. If I had seen it 
then I would have trampled my love for you underfoot 
rather than have asked so great a sacrifice. But I was 
blinded — I did not understand — ” 

“Wolff, have I complained? Have I been so ungrateful 
— so wicked?” 

“No, Nora. You have been very brave and good, but I 
have seen, and I have reproached myself bitterly — terribly. 
When I came in to-night and saw that you had been crying, 
I felt that I would do anything — that I would give you 
up—” 

He stopped short, and with a pang of indescribable pain 
she felt that this soldier kneeling at her feet was fighting 
for his voice, that his quick, broken sentences had been the 
outburst of a long-suppressed and bitter struggle 


RISING SHADOWS 


231 


“r love you, Nora,” he stammered roughly. “I love you 
with my life and soul and body, but if your happiness re- 
quired it I would give you up — to your people — ” 

“Wolff !” she interrupted passionately. 

“Listen dear. I am not talkirfg at random. I have thought 
it all over. If I can not make you happy, I will not make 
you unhappy. I will do everything a man can do to atone 
for the one great wrong. Only tell me, whilst I have the 
strength to part with you — ” 

He stopped again, and she felt that he was trembling 
There was something infinitely pathetic in his weakness, 
something which called to life not only her love for him as 
her husband, but a wealth of a new and wonderful tender- 
ness such as a mother might feel for a suffering child. She 
put her arms about him and drew his head against her breast. 
For that moment she forgot everything save that he was 
miserable and that she had made him so. 

“I will never leave you of my free will,” she said. “Never ! 
You will have to chase me away, and then I shall come and 
sit on the doorstep and wait for you to let me in. Oh, 
Wolff, my dearest, what foolish things have you been think- 
ing, and how long have you been brooding over them? Don’t 
you know that I could not live without you?” 

He lifted his face, searching hers with keen, hungry 
eyes, in which she read doubt and a dawning hope. 

“Is that true, Nora?” 

“Yes; it is true!” 

“Be honest with me. Am I so much to you that' you can 
be happy with me — with my people and in my home and 
country?” 

He had asked the question which she had asked herself 
in moments of pitiless self-examination, but, like her, he 
asked it too late. She answered now earnestly, passionately, 


232 


DIVIDING WATERS 


swept beyond all selfish considerations on a tide of deep, 
sincere feeling. 

“Yes, I love you enough, Wolff. And if there have been 
any regrets, any longings which have caused you pain, for- 
give them, my husband — above all, understand them. They 
will pass — they must pass, because, at the bottom, you are 
my all in all.” 

He made no answer. He lifted her hand to his lips, and 
in the movement there was a joy, a gratitude deeper than 
words could have expressed. She felt that she had satisfied 
him, and she, too, felt satisfied. 1 

Thus they sat silent together, hand clasped in hand, his 
head against her shoulder, whilst peace and a new happi- 
ness seemed to creep in about them with the evening shadows. 
And in her young hope and confidence Nora believed in 
this new happiness as she had believed in the old. It 
seemed so strong, so invulnerable, the obstacles so petty, so 
mean. They had been swept aside in a moment, like sand- 
castles before the onrush of the sea, so that it seemed im- 
possible, absurd, that she could ever have thought of them 
as insurmountable. And yet, though heart and mind believed 
in the change, another wider, less definable sense, which 
we call instinct, remained doubtful and fearful. It was the 
one sign that all was not as it had once been, that they 
had only outwardly regained the past. Once they had lived 
for the future, longing for it in their extravagant youth as 
for a time which must reveal to them new wonders and 
joys. Now they clung anxiously to the present scarcely 
daring to move or speak lest the peace, the outward sem- 
blance of unity, should be destroyed. Thus they sat silent 
together, each apparently plunged in his own untroubled 
reflections, each in reality fighting back thought as an enemy 
who might overshadow their victory. 


RISING SHADOWS 


233 


It was Arnim who at last spoke. He drew two letters 
from his pocket and gave them to her. 

“The postman met me on the stairs,” he said. “One is 
a disappointment and the other the fulfillment of a wish. 
Which will you have first?” 

“The disappointment,” she said, turning over the letters 
anxiously. “I always keep the bonne bouche for the last. 
But it has grown so dark that I can not see. You must tell 
me what is in both.” 

“The one is from Aunt Magda,” he answered. “It seems 
that the doctor has ordered Hildegarde a longer trial of the 
baths at Baden-Baden, so that their coming will be post- 
poned a week or two at least. I am very sorry. I had 
looked forward to the time when you would have them — to 
help you.” 

It was the one faint intimation that he knew that she 
still needed help and that all had not gone well in the short 
period of their married life. Nora’s face fell. Her very 
real disappointment proved to her how much she had longed 
for the two women who had always been her friends, even 
in the darkest hours. She loved them as mother and sister. 
She had never felt for them the antipathy, the enmity, which 
had grown up between her and the Selenecks, and, in lesser 
degrees, between her and all the other women of her hus- 
band’s circle, and she had longed for them as for a refuge 
from her increasing isolation. And now they were not coming 
— or, at least, not for some weeks. She was to be left alone 
among these strangers, these foreigners, with only Miles to 
support and uphold her. Only Miles? She remembered 
her husband with a pang of the old remorse, and she bent 
and kissed him as though to atone for some unintentional 
wrong. 

“I am sorry they are not coming,” she said; “but perhaps 


234 


DIVIDING WATERS 


the baths will do Hildegarde good, and as for me — why, 
have I not got my husband to turn to ?” 

Wolff laughed happily. 

“After that pretty speech, I must hold out some reward, 
so that the practice may be encouraged,” he said, waving 
the second letter in triumph. “Behold! His Excellency 
General von Hulson has done himself the honor to invite 
his future colleague, the Captain von Arnim, nebst his beau- 
tiful Gemahlin and honorable brother-in-law, to a ball on 
the seventeenth of next month. Now, are you satisfied?” 

“How good you are to me, dear !” She kissed him, guiltily 
conscious that her joy had been but a poor feigning. Now, 
for the first time, she realized clearly how far she had 
drifted from her husband’s circle. She shrank from that 
which had once been the goal of her ambition. Wolff laughed 
at her, mistaking the cause of her hesitation. 

“Verily, I am going to be a wise husband!” he said gaily. 
“Are all the fine dresses worn out, that my wife’s fair face 
should be so overcast? Well, there! Is that enough to. 
cover future expenses, Vanity?” 

He had pressed a little bundle of paper money into her 
hand, and she looked at it, dazed with surprise. She did 
not know that it was Bruno’s price which he had given her, 
but again her eyes filled. She pitied him in that moment 
more than herself. 

“You dear, generous fellow,” she stammered mechani- 
cally. 

“It’s not generosity, little woman. It’s only right that 
you should have change and gaiety. You must not think 
that I do not understand how dull and dreary it must some- 
times be. I do understand — it goads me sometimes to think 
how little I can do. Perhaps one day it will all be better — 
when I am field marshal, you know !” 


RISING SHADOWS 


235 


He tried to laugh, but somehow a certain weariness rang 
through his laughter. She heard it, and remorse mingled 
with her pity. 

“You must not worry about all that,” she said gently. “I 
must be a poor kind of wife if I am not satisfied as I am.” 
She repeated her words to herself, and felt that there was 
bitter truth in them. 

For a moment Wolff remained silent. She thought he was 
resting, but presently he spoke again, and she knew that he 
had been preparing himself to approach a graver subject. 

“Nora, there is something I want you to do for me, 
something I want you to promise.” 

She looked anxiously down into his face. 

“What is it, dear?” 

“I want you to associate less with Bauer— -and with 
Bauer’s relations.” 

“Why?” 

The one word sounded a defiance. Wolff rose from his 
kneeling position and stood at her side, his hand resting 
gently on her shoulder. 

“Because he is a man I do not trust. It is not my way 
to speak against a comrade or to accuse lightly, but I have 
sure reason for asking what I do of you. No man and no 
woman is the better for Bauer’s friendship.” 

“Does that mean that' you do not trust me?” 

She was angry now — without just cause or reason, simply 
because she saw in him the embodiment of all the prejudices 
of the class which had dared to look askance at her. A grave 
smile passed over her husband’s face. 

“You know I trust you, Nora; but in our position we 
must avoid even the appearance of evil. Not so much as a 
breath of scandal must tarnish my wife’s name.” 

“Ah, l your wife* !” she said bitterly. 


236 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“ — Who is myself,” he added. 

There was a moment’s silence before he went on : 

“It is not only of you I was thinking, Nora. There is 
Miles to be considered. He is very young, and possibly 
easily influenced. No one can tell into what difficulties, 
what temptations, he might be led by unscrupulous hands. 
Surely you sympathize with me in this?” 

“My brother is no more likely to act dishonorably than 
myself,” she answered, and again it was her race rather than 
Miles that she defended. “Nor do I believe Captain Bauer 
to be the man you describe. He has been very kind to me, 
and I know to what influence I must ascribe your prejudices. 
The Selenecks have always hated my — my friendship with 
the Bauers. No doubt they told you that the Commerzienrat 
has stolen his wealth.” 

She regretted her words as soon as they had been spoken. 
In her angry conviction that her conduct had been criticized 
— perhaps justly criticized — she had allowed herself to say 
more than she had meant, more even than she believed to 
be true. 

“You are not just to me, Nora,” Wolff answered quietly. 
“I have said nothing against the Bauers — I know nothing 
against them. But they are very rich, and it is their wealth 
which makes your association with them undesirable. We 
are poor — our friends are poor. We can not entertain as 
they do. And we belong to another class — not a better 
class, perhaps, but one with other aims and other ideals. 
You can not belong to both.” 

“At the bottom, you do think your class superior,” Nora 
interposed scornfully. 

“Perhaps I do — perhaps you do, when you are honest 
with yourself, dear. You must know that the Bauers’ friend- 
ship for you is not wholly disinterested. It sounds rather 


RISING SHADOWS 


237 


brutal; but those sort of people who talk of money as the 
one thing that counts and pretend to scorn family and titles 
are just those who are most anxious to have a titled name 
among their visitors.” 

Nora started as though she had been stung. 

“I think you overestimate your — our importance,” she 
said. 

He did not retort. He simply held out his hands to her. 

“Nora, you can’t think it gives me pleasure to spoil 
anything for you. Won’t you trust me? Won’t you give 
me your promise?” 

She looked at him ; she was honest enough to acknowledge 
to herself that he had been right, but above all, his patience, 
his quiet tone of pleading, had moved and softened her. 

“I give you my promise,” Wolff. 

“Thank you, dear. Goodness knows, I will try and make 
it up to you in all I can.” 

He kissed her, and then suddenly she drew away from 
him. 

“You don’t need to make up for it. And I think, after 
all, I won’t go to the Hulsons’.” 

He looked at her in blank surprise. He had sold his 
favorite horse to satisfy her needs, he had humbled his pride, 
laid himself open to the accusation of being a “place- 
hunter” in order to be able to lead her into the brilliant 
world after which she had once craved, and now that the 
sacrifices had been brought she would have none of them. 
He did not understand — as how should he have done? — 
that she saw in his action an attempt to bribe her, 
in his gift a sweetmeat offered to a disappointed child. 
He felt, instead — though he would not have admitted it 
even in his thoughts — that she had been capricious, incon- 
siderate. 


238 


DIVIDING WATERS 


He turned away and went over to the writing table, 
throwing down the two letters with a gesture of weariness. 

“We must go now, whether we want to or not,” he said. 
“I have worried for the invitation, and it is impossible to 
refuse. The Selenecks would have every right to be of- 
fended.” 

“They are that already,” Nora said bitterly. 

“Perhaps they have some reason to be, dear.” He spoke 
quietly, but he had implied that the fault was hers, and 
the angry blood rushed to her cheeks. 

“The Selenecks are absurd and ridiculously sensitive,” she 
said. “They have chosen to take offense at nothing, and — ” 

“Nora, they are my best friends!” 

“Is that any reason why they should be mine?” 

“Yes, I think so.” 

“And if I do not like them — if I find their manners and 
ways too different to mine — what then?” 

There was a faint sneer in tone and look which was 
intentional, and which she knew was undeserved, but she 
could not help herself. She hated the Selenecks and the 
whole crowd of small military nobodies struggling for ad- 
vancement and their daily bread. Why should she be forced 
to live her life among them?” 

Wolff made no answer to her question. He was suffi- 
ciently calm to feel with its full poignancy how fleeting and 
unstable their newly-won happiness had been. The barrier 
was raised again — the more formidable because it had been 
once so easily overcome. Yet, with the tenacity of despair 
he clung to the appearance of things, and kept his teeth 
tight-clenched upon an angry, bitter retort. He was spared 
all further temptation. The door bell rang, and he turned 
to Nora with a quiet question as though nothing had hap- 
pened. 


RISING SHADOWS 


239 


“Is that Miles, or is he at home?” 

“It is Miles, probably. He has been out all the after- 
noon.” 

She, too, had recovered her self-possession and was grate- 
ful to him for having ignored her outburst. Nevertheless 
she knew that he would not forget, any more than she would 
be able to do. 

“Where has he been, do you know?” 

“I am not sure. He found it very dull here, and went out 
with some English friends he has picked up. Is there any 
harm in that?” 

Again the same note of sneering defiance! Wolff kept 
his face steadily averted. 

“Not so far. But I do not like his English friends.” 

“I suppose not,” she retorted. “Everybody here hates us.” 

“Us — ?” He turned at last and looked at her. 

“ — The English I mean,” she stammered. 

He had no opportunity to reply. The door opened, and 
their little maid-of -all- work entered, bearing a card. 

“A gentleman to see the gnadige Frau,” she said. “Shall 
I show him in?” 

Nora took the card. She looked at it a long time. Even 
in the half-darkness her pallor was so intense that it caught 
Wolff’s attention. He saw her stretch out her hand blindly 
as though seeking support. 

“What is it? What is the matter?” he asked. 

She lifted her eyes to his, staringly, stupidly. He felt that 
she hardly saw him. 

“Nothing, nothing at all — it is an old friend — from Eng- 
land.” 

The sound of her own voice seemed to bring her to her 
senses. She handed him the card, and her manner from 
stunned bewilderment changed to something that was in- 


240 


DIVIDING WATERS 


tensely 'defiant. There was a moment’s silence. Then 
Arnim turned to the waiting servant. 

“Show him in here,” he ordered. 

“Wolff — how do you know I wish to see him?” 

“An old friend — who has come so far to see you? You 
surely can not do otherwise. Besides, why should you not 
want to see him?” 

He looked at her in steady surprise, so that the suspicion 
which for one moment had flashed up in her mind died down 
as quickly as it had come. He did not know — he could not 
know. But the consciousness of coming disaster weighed 
upon her like a crushing burden. 

“There is no reason. Only I thought you might not 
wish it.” 

“Your friends are my friends,” he answered gravely. 

And then the door opened a second time, and Robert 
Arnold stood on the threshold. 


CHAPTER IX 


ARNOLD RECEIVES HIS EXPLANATION 

A GREAT physical change had come over him in the 
few months of his absence. He was pale and gaunt- 
looking, as though he had but lately risen from a serious 
illness, and his eyes, which fell at once on Nora’s face, were 
hollow and heavily underlined. 

Nora noticed these details with the sort of mechanical 
minuteness of a mind too stunned to grasp the full magni- 
tude of the situation. One side of her intellect kept on re- 
peating: “Why has he come? Why has he come?” whilst 
the other was engrossed in a trivial catalogue of the changes 
in his appearance. “He stoops more — he is thinner,” she 
thought, but she could not rouse herself to action. Arnold, 
indeed, gave her little opportunity. After the first moment’s 
hesitation he advanced and held out his hand. 

“I ought to have let you know of my coming, Nora,” he 
said, “but I could not wait. I have just arrived in Berlin, 
and, of course, my first visit had to be to you. I hope I 
have not chosen an inconvenient time?” 

He was trying to speak conventionally, and was success- 
ful, insomuch that Nora understood that she had at present 
nothing to fear from him. Not that she felt any fear now 
that the first shock was over. It was with a certain dignity 
and resolution that she looked from one man to the other. 

“This is my husband, Robert,” she said, “and this, Wolff, 
is my old playfellow, Captain Arnold.” 

Wolff held out his hand frankly. 

241 


242 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I am glad to meet you,” he said. “I am glad for my 
wife’s sake when she has the chance of seeing her old 
friends. I hope, therefore, that your stay in Berlin is to be 
a long one?” 

Arnold bowed. 

“I am on my way home to England,” he said. “How 
long I remain depends on circumstances.” 

“May the circumstances be favorable, then!” Wolff re- 
turned. His tone was warm — almost anxiously friendly, and 
Nora looked at him in surprise and gratitude. His smiling 
face betrayed no sign of the devil which he had grappled 
with and overcome in one short moment of struggle. He 
nodded cheerfully at her. 

“I am afraid you must play hostess alone for a little, 
dear,” he said. “Captain Arnold, as a soldier, you will 
understand that duty can’t be neglected, and you will excuse 
me. I have no doubt you will have a great deal to talk 
about, and at supper time I shall hope to have the pleasure 
of meeting you again. Whilst you are in Berlin you must 
consider this your pied-a-terre.” 

“You are very kind,” Arnold stammered. Like Nora, he, 
too, was impressed — uncomfortably impressed — by the im- 
petuous hospitality with w r hich Wolff greeted him. Like 
Nora, also, he had no means of knowing that it was the 
natural revolt of a generous nature from the temptings of 
jealousy and suspicion. 

Wolff had lighted a small lamp, which he carried with 
him to the door, together with a bundle of documents. For 
a moment he hesitated, looking back at Nora, and the light 
thrown up into his face revealed an expression of more than 
usual tenderness. 

“Don’t talk yourself tired, Frauchen,” he said as he 
went out. 


ARNOLD RECEIVES EXPLANATION 243 


Nora smiled mechanically. She had had the feeling that 
the words were nothing, that he had tried to convey an un- 
spoken message to her which she had neither understood 
nor answered. She gave herself no time to think over it. 
She switched on the electric, light, and turned to Arnold, 
who was still standing watching her. 

“Sit down, Robert,” she said. “As Wolf said, we have a 
great deal to say to each other — at least, I fancy you have 
come because you have a great deal to say to me.” 

Her words contained a slight challenge, which, the next 
moment, she felt had been out of place. Arnold sank down 
in the chair nearest to hand. It was as though he had hither- 
to been acting a part, and now let the mask fall from a 
face full of weary hopelessness. 

“You are right,” he said. “I have something to say, Nora 
• — I suppose, though, I ought to call you Frau von Arnim?” 

“You ought,” she answered, irritated by his tone. “But 
it does not matter. I don’t think Wolff minded.” 

A grim smile passed over Arnold’s lips. 

“Wolff seems a good-natured sort of fellow,” he said. 
There was again something disparaging in his tone which 
brought the color to Nora’s cheeks. 

“He is everything I could wish,” she answered proudly. 
And then the hollow cheeks and sunken- eyes reminded her 
that she had done this man a cruel injury, and her heart 
softened with pity and remorse. 

“How pale and thin you have grown!” she exclaimed. 
“Have you been ill?” 

“Very ill,” he answered. “I caught some swamp fever 
or other out there in the wilds, and it was months before 
they could get me back to thjs coast. That is why you never 
heard from me. As soon as I reached port I set straight off. 
for home — to you.” 


244 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“To me — ■?” she repeated blankly. 

He nodded. 

“Yes ; to the woman I believed was to be my wife.’ , 

“Then you never got my second letter?” 

“Did you write a second letter?” 

He was looking her earnestly in the eyes, and there was a 
stifled, tragic wretchedness in his own which was terrible 
to look on. 

“I wrote and explained everything,” Nora answered, con- 
trolling her voice with an effort. “I have behaved badly to 
you, but not so badly as to leave you undeceived.” 

“You sent me an explanation,” he said slowly. “Nora, 
it is that explanation which I have come to seek. When I 
first heard of your marriage, I made up my mind that you 
were not worth suffering for. I thought that I would go 
back to the forest and forget you — if I could. I meant 
never to see you again — I felt I could not bear it. But, 
Nora, a man’s love is not only a selfish desire for possession. 
If he loves truly, he puts into that love something of him- 
self which is a vital part of his life and being — his ideals 
and his whole trust. I suffered — not only because I had 
lost you, but because I had lost my faith in every one. You 
seemed so good and true, Nora. I felt I could never trust 
another woman again. That was unbearable. For my own 
sake I had to come and ask you — if you could explain.” 

He stopped abruptly, and there was a little silence. He 
had spoken without passion, simply in that weary monotone 
of those who have risen from great physical or mental 
suffering; and Nora’s heart ached with the knowledge that 
she alone had brought this ruin upon him. 

“You said, ‘When I first heard of your marriage.’ ” she 
began at last. “When and how was that?” 

“From Frau von Arnim,” he answered. “I thought you 


ARNOLD RECEIVES EXPLANATION 245 


might still be with her at Karlsburg, and the place lay on 
my route. It was Frau von Arnim who told me.” 

“Then — she knows everything?” 

He saw the alarm on her face. 

“As much as I know. Forgive me, Nora; it was in- 
evitable — I could not believe what she told me. I am the 
more sorry because she is a hard, cold woman who will make 
trouble. That is another reason why I have come. I wanted 
to warn you.” 

Nora made a quick gesture — half of dissent, half of doubt. 

“You misjudge her,” she said. “She will forgive and 
understand, as you must. Oh, Robert, it makes me miser- 
able to think I have caused you so much pain, but if I had 
to live my life again I could not have acted otherwise !” 

Her voice had grown firmer, and as she spoke she turned 
from her position by the window and faced him with quiet 
confidence. 

“I acted for what I believed to be the best, Robert,” she 
said. “It was perhaps wrong what I did, but I did not 
mean it to be — I meant to be just and honorable. But I was 
not strong enough. That was my one fault.” 

Her clear, earnest tones brought back the light' to the 
tired eyes that watched her. 

“I am glad,” he said. “I am glad that you can explain. 
That is all I have come for, Nora — to hear from your own 
lips that you are not ashamed.” 

“I am not ashamed,” she answered steadily. And then, 
in a few quick sentences she told him everything that had 
led up to that final moment when Wolff had taken her in- 
his arms and the whole world had been forgotten. As she 
spoke, the past revived before her own eyes, and she felt 
again a faint vibration of that happiness which had once 
seemed immortal, indestructible. 


246 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I did not deceive you,” she said at last, with convinc- 
ing sincerity. “I wrote and told you that I would marry 
you — not that I loved you. I knew I did not love you, 
because my love was given elsewhere. I loved Wolff al- 
ready then, but there was a barrier between us which I be- 
lieved to be insurmountable. I consented to become your 
wife because it seemed the best and safest thing to do. 
Afterwards — it was almost immediately afterwards — the 
barrier proved unavailing against our love, and I forgot you. 
That is the brutal truth. I forgot you until it was too late, 
because, you see, I did not feel more for you than friend- 
ship, and because I really loved. That was weak, no doubt, 
but I had never loved before, and it was too strong for me. 
A wiser woman would have waited until she was free. She 
would have written to you and told you that it was all a mis- 
take. I wrote to you afterwards. That is the only difference. 
The letter did not reach you, and you believed the worst of 
me. It was only natural, and I know I am to blame, but oh ! 
if you really love, surely you can understand?” 

He smiled at her unconscious cruelty, and, rising, took 
the outstretched hands in his. 

“I do understand,” he said, “and the blame is all mine. 
I should never have accepted your generous gift of yourself 
without your love. I might have known that it would end 
badly. But you were so young, dear. I thought I should 
be able to teach you to love. Well, some one else was 
cleverer and had a better chance, perhaps, than I had. I 
have no right to blame, nor do you need to feel any remorse 
on my account. The worst wound is healed now that I can 
understand. My one prayer is that you may be very, very 
happy. You are happy, aren’t you, Nora?” 

For the shortest part of a minute she wavered. She re- 
peated' the question to herself and wondered. 


ARNOLD RECEIVES EXPLANATION 247 


“Yes, of course I am happy,” she replied almost im- 
patiently. “Why should I not be?” 

“I don’t know. Perhaps I am over-anxious for you. You 
see” — his faint smile betrayed how deep his emotion was, 
in spite of all self-control — “I still love you.” 

“I am glad,” she answered frankly. “I care for you, too, 
Robert, quite enough to make me very sad if I should lose 
your regard. It made me miserable to think that you prob- 
ably hated and despised me.” 

“I never did that, though I believe I tried,” he said. 
“And now that I may not give you my love, I may at least 
feel that I am your friend? Grant me that much, Nora. 
It is very little that I ask — your trust and friendship.” 

It was indeed very little that he asked, and he had been 
more generous to her than she could have ever dared to hope. 
And yet she hesitated. 

“Nora!” he cried. “Surely I have not deserved to lose 
everything !” 

He was pleading as a beggar might have pleaded for 
the crumbs beneath the table, and all that was generous in 
her responded. The hesitation, the vague uneasiness passed. 
She gave him her hand. 

“Of course! We have always been friends — we must 
always be friends.” 

“Thank you, dear. That is a great deal to me. No other 
woman will ever come into my life.” 

“Don’t!” she exclaimed, painfully moved. “You make 
me feel that I have spoiled your life.” 

“But you haven’t, Nora. You are just the only woman 
I could ever have loved, and if I had not met you I should 
be even lonelier than I am. At least I have your friendship.” 

His tone was composed, almost cheerful, but she felt that 
he was at the end of his strength, and when, after a quick 


248 


DIVIDING WATERS 


pressure of the hand, he went toward the door, she made 
no effort to recall him. Her own voice was strangled, and 
perhaps her face revealed more than she knew, more than 
she was actually conscious of feeling — a regret, an appeal, 
an almost childish loneliness. As though answering an un- 
expressed cry of pain, he turned suddenly and looked at her. 
He saw the all-betraying tears, and the next minute he had* 
come back to her side and had taken her hands and kissed 
them. 

“You must not!” he said gently. “You are to be happy — 

as I am. Forgive me; it is the seal upon our friendship 

and a farewell.” 

She had not resisted. She would have forgiven him, be- 
cause she understood ; she would have- put the moment’s 
surrender to passion from her memory as something par- 
doned, but fate took the power of forgiving and forgetting 
from her. For the door had opened, and Miles stood on 
the threshold, watching them with an expression of blank 
amazement on his flushed, excited face. 

Arnold turned, too late conscious that they were not 
alone, and Miles’ amazement changed to a loud delight. 

“If it isn’t old Arnold !” he exclaimed, flinging coat and 
hat on the nearest chair and stretching out an unsteady 
hand. “Why, we thought you were dead and buried in some 
African wilderness, didn’t we, Nora?” 

“You are not far wrong then,” Arnold answered. “I 
was pretty well done for once, and am only just beginning 
to feel that I really belong to this world again.” He had 
recovered his self-possession with an effort, and he went on 
quickly, almost as though he were afraid of Miles’ next 
words: “I was on my way home, and took Berlin as a 
break. Of course I had to come and see you all.” 

Miles nodded. 


[ARNOLD RECEIVES EXPLANATION 249 


“Decent of you,” he said thickly. “Nora will be glad to 
have you in this foreign hole. It’s a sickening shame — ” 
He stumbled and reeled up against Arnold with an im- 
potent curse. The momentary excitement over the unex- 
pected arrival had passed, leaving him bemuddled in a dull 
but unmistakable state of intoxication. Arnold took him by 
the arm and helped him to the nearest chair. 

“You are a young fool,” he said good-naturedly. “Ger- 
man beer isn’t so harmless as you seem to think. What 
have you been doing with yourself?” 

Miles passed his hand over his forehead with a helpless 
movement, as though he were awakening from a dream. 

“It’s not the drink,” he stammered. “It’s not the drink, 
I tell you. It’s — it’s the money. I’m in a devil of a mess. 
These dirty foreigners — ” 

“Oh, hush!” Nora cried. For the moment disgust and 
anger had passed. She had heard Wolff’s footstep in the 
adjoining room, and a sudden horror had come over her. 
“Robert, take him away — quick! And come back after- 
wards — Wolff may not ask for him whilst you are here. 
Oh, help me !” 

Arnold nodded silently. He lifted the hapless Miles and 
half dragged, half carried him from the room. He had no 
thought as yet of the future. It had been revealed to him 
in a flash that all was not well in Nora’s life; he had seen 
something like despair in her face, and knew that she needed 
the strong hand of a friend. 

“And I am that — nothing else,” he thought as he closed 
Miles’ door behind him. “No one can blame me if I claim 
the rights of friendship and help her — no one l” 

But Captain Robert Arnold, sure of his own honor, forgot 
that the world, being less honorable, might also be of an- 
other opinion. 


CHAPTER X 


NEMESIS 

I T was her at-home day. As she sat there, with her 
hands clasped listlessly on her lap, it seemed as though 
in imagination she saw the ghosts of other days arise — days 
when the little room had been crowded with eager, chatter- 
ing friends who had come to tell her and each other the 
latest news of their servants, their husbands or the service, 
or to be “intellectual,” as the case might be. She thought 
she saw Frau von Seleneck seated on the sofa opposite her, 
her round, rosy face bright with an irrepressible optimism ; 
she thought she heard the rich, contented chuckle, and felt 
the maternal pat upon her arm. Then her vision cleared, 
and the ghosts vanished. The little room was empty of all 
but shadows, and she was alone. 

Presently the door of her husband’s study opened. She 
heard him come toward her, and knew that he was stand- 
ing at her side ; but she did not look up. She felt for the 
moment too listless, too weary, above all, too proud, to let 
him see how deeply her new isolation wounded her. 

“All alone, dear?” 

“Yes, all alone.” 

“I thought it was your at-home day?” 

She tried to laugh. 

“Yes, so it is. But no one has come, you see.” 

“How is that?” 

Then she looked up at him. 

“You know quite well. Everybody hates me.” 

250 


NEMESIS 


251 


“Nora! That is not true.” 

She nodded. 

“It is quite true. The Selenecks have taken care that 
none of my misdeeds should go forgotten. They can’t for- 
give my- — my intimacy with other people, or my nationality.” 

“Your nationality.” 

She got up with an impetuous, angry movement. 

“Yes, my nationality.” 

He stood looking at her. A new expression had come 
into his grave face — an expression of sudden understanding, 
of indescribable pain. Then he came toward her and put 
his arm about her shoulders. 

“My little wife, don’t, for God’s sake, don’t let that come 
between us ! Be brave, fight it down. It will only be for a 
time. Our — my people are easily hurt. They think, per- 
haps, you despise them for their sober ways — that they are 
not good enough for you. Be kind to them, and they will 
come back. They would forgive you anything.” 

She drew back from him. 

“I do not want their forgiveness. I do not want them. 
I am happiest alone.” 

He made no answer, but went slowly toward the door. 
She knew that she had hurt him, and in her bitterness and 
wounded pride it gave her a painful satisfaction to know 
that he too suffered. Yet she loved him; she knew, as he 
stood there with bent head, that she would give her life for 
him — only she could not surrender herself, her individuality, 
the old ties of blood and instinct. She could not, would not, 
break down the barrier which her race built between them. 
She was too proud, perhaps too hurt to try. 

Suddenly Arnim looked up. His features were quiet and 
composed, and the gathering twilight hid the expression in 
his eyes. 


252 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Nora, where is Miles?” 

“Still in bed. He — he is not feeling well.” 

“The effects of yesterday?” He laughed grimly. “It 
seems to me, dear, that your brother would be the better for 
some occupation — in his own country.” 

“You wish him to go?” 

He met her challenge with an unfaltering determination 
that was yet mingled with tenderness and pity. 

“I think it better — before it is too late.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Before he ruins himself — or us.” 

“Wolff, you are not fair. You are unjust.” 

He smiled sadly. 

“I hope I am. Good-by, little woman. I shall try and 
be back early. But perhaps Arnold will come — and then 
you will not be alone.” 

He went out, closing the door quietly behind him. The 
protest died on her lips ; an icy sense of isolation crept over 
her, obliterating for the moment all thought of his injustice, 
of the slight which he had cast upon her brother. In her 
sudden weakness she held out her arms toward the closed 
door and called his name, feebly, like a frightened child 
crying in the dark. But he did not come back. She heard 
his spurs jingle with a mocking cheerfulness — and then 
silence. So she went back to her place by the window and 
sat there, holding back with a pitiful pride the tears that 
burnt her eyes. 

Presently the door opened again. She thought he had 
come back, and with all her pride her heart beat faster with 
a momentary, reasonless hope. Then she heard the click 
of the electric light and a man’s voice speaking to her. 

“Gnadige Frau, may I come in?” 

She sprang to her feet as though the voice had been a 


NEMESIS 


253 


blow, and saw Bauer standing on the threshold, bowing, a 
curious, half-ironical smile playing about his mouth. For 
the moment she could neither think nor speak, but out of 
the depths of her consciousness arose the old aversion, the 
old instinctive dread. She knew then, warned by that same 
occult power, that the time had come when the dread should 
receive its justification. 

“I found the door open, and ventured to enter unan- 
nounced,” Bauer went on calmly. “I know from experience 
that the usual formalities would lead to no result. You have 
been ‘out’ a great deal of late, gnadige Frau ” He came 
toward her without hesitation, and, taking her passive 
hand, kissed it. “Am I forgiven?” 

His absolute ease of manner checked the rise of her in- 
dignation. She felt herself strangely helpless. Yet her 
dignity — her dignity as Wolff’s wife — came to her rescue. 
She looked steadily into the still-smiling face. 

“If I have been often out, it has not been a mere chance, 
Herr Rittmeister,” she answered. “It has been of intention 
— an intention which you would have been wiser to respect.” 

“I see no good reason why I should respect your husband’s 
‘intentions,’ gnadige Frau,” he retorted calmly. 

“My husband’s wishes are mine.” 

“Really?” He laughed, and then grew suddenly serious. 
“In any case, it seems to me that I — we have a right to 
some sort of an explanation. To put it badly — there was 
a time when it pleased you to accept my sister-in-law’s 
hospitality and friendship. Now, it seems, neither she nor 
I are good enough for you.” 

Nora flinched involuntarily. She knew that the reproach 
was a just one, but she knew, too, that Wolff had been 
right and only she to blame. Instinct again warned her. 
She saw danger in this man’s cold eyes, in which there yet 


254 


DIVIDING WATERS 


flickered the light of some controlled passion, either of 
hatred or some other feeling to which she dared give no 
name. 

“You have a right to an explanation,” she said at last, 
with an effort controlling her unsteady voice. “Indeed, I 
owe you more than that — I owe you an apology. It was 
a mistake for me to enter into a circle to which I did not 
belong; only you will do me the justice to remember that 
it was a mistake not altogether of my making.” 

“Gott, gnadige Frau!” He laughed angrily. “You talk 
as though we were the dirt under your feet. Is it your 
husband’s petty nobility which gives you the right to look 
at me like that? I, too, wear the king’s uniform — that is a 
point which you should do well to remember.” 

“I have not forgotten it. And there is no question of 
contempt — I feel myself, Heaven knows, superior to no 
one ; but I repeat, it was a mistake to accept kindness which 
could not be returned. Surely you can understand — ” She 
crushed down her pride, and in the effort her bearing be- 
came prouder and colder. “We are poor, Herr Rittmeister, 
your relations are rich and live as we can not live. That 
alone is a barrier between us.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“An excuse gnadige Frau , an excuse. I know the opin- 
ions of your husband’s class too well not to know perfectly 
what you prefer not to tell me. In any case, your considera- 
tions are a little belated. You should have thought of all 
that before you allowed your brother to enter into a circle” 
— he echoed her words with a kind of mocking satisfaction — • 
“in which he could not sustain his position.” 

Nora started. She knew now that there was a menace 
in this man’s looks and words. She understood that he 
would never have acted as he had done without the sure 


NEMESIS 


255 


conviction that the power was in his hands. What that 
power was she did not know — she only knew that she was 
afraid. 

“Sit down, gnadige Frau,” he went on more calmly. “You 
look pale, and I have something of importance to tell you. 
But before everything, I want you to believe that I come 
to you as your friend.” 

He motioned her to be seated in the chair which he had 
pushed toward her, and she obeyed him passively. A sharp- 
ly defined recollection of their first meeting came back to 
her as she did so. Then, too, he had acted with the insolent 
assurance of a man who knows himself master of the situa- 
tion; but then she had had the power of her independence. 
Now she felt herself bound, helpless in the bonds of cir- 
cumstances — and her own folly. 

“It is of your brother I have come to speak,” Bauer went 
on, taking his place before her. “Nothing should prove my 
friendship better than the fact that I have come in spite 
of the rebuff to which I knew I should lay myself open. 
But I could not see the crisis break over you without a word 
of warning — without offering you a helping hand.” 

She looked at him in mingled astonishment and anger. 
His familiarity was more terrible to her than his previous 
tone of menacing resentment. 

“I do not understand you,” she said coldly. 

“Perhaps not. But you must surely be aware that your 
brother has not been living the most austere of lives since 
his arrival in Berlin. It may be that I am a little to blame. 
I thought by the way he talked that he could well afford 
it, and encouraged him to share my life with me. Well, 
it appears now that he bragged more than circumstances 
justified. I do not speak of the money he owes me nor his 
gambling debts to my friends. Those I have already paid. 


256 


DIVIDING WATERS 


It was not pleasant for me to be associated with a default- 
ing gambler, and what I did I did for my own sake. I ask 
no thanks or credit for it. But there are other matters.” 
He had undone the buttons of his military coat, and drew 
out a folded sheet of paper, which he laid before her. “That 
is a rough list of your brother’s creditors, with the amounts 
attached,” he said. “You will see for yourself that he has 
understood the art of amusing himself.” 

She took the list from him. The figures swam before her 
eyes and she fought against a deadly faintness. From afar 
off she heard Bauer’s voice roll on with the unchanged calm 
of a lawyer for whom the matter had only a professional 
interest. 

“At the bottom you will see the sum total, gnadige Frau. 
It runs into three figures, and it is possible that my list is 
not complete. The worst of it is that your husband will be 
held responsible. The credit would never have been given 
to Mr. Ingestre if his brother-in-law had not been Herr von 
Arnim, captain on the general staff.” 

Nora rose unsteadily to her feet. 

“It is impossible,” she stammered incoherently. “I know 
— Wolff hasn’t the money — it is impossible. Oh, how could 
he have been so foolish — so wicked!” And it was curious 
that in that moment she thought less of the ruin which was 
bearing down upon her husband than of the disgrace which 
had fallen upon her brother, of Wolff’s justified contempt 
and the triumph of his friends. Bauer had also risen and 
now took a quick step to her side. 

“Gnadige Frau , your brother has only done what hun- 
dreds of young fellows do. No doubt he hoped that he 
would have time enough allowed him to pay. Unfortunately, 
there are war-scares flying about, and the tradespeople are a 
little shy of English customers. I fear they will press pay- 


NEMESIS 


257 


ment. But there is no need for you to worry. Your hus- 
band need never even know that these debts existed. A word 
from you and they are paid and forgotten.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I will pay them.” 

“You?” 

“Yes, I.” He came still closer, so that she could hear 
his quick, irregular breathing. “You English are practical 
people,” he went on, with an attempted laugh. “You know 
that there is precious little done out of pure charity in this 
world. If I help you out of this difficulty it is on certain 
conditions.” 

“I do not want to hear them — ” 

“Why not? They are simple enough. The one is that 
you should renew your friendship with my sister-in-law. 
It is awkward for her — this sudden cooling off; and she 
has a right to expect some consideration from you. The 
other concerns myself. I, too, must have your friendship — 
more than that — you, your regard.” He took her hands 
and held them in a brutal, masterful grip. “You can’t pre- 
tend you don’t know — you must have known I cared — from 
the beginning — you — ” 

She wrenched herself free. She had seen his eyes and 
the hell in them, and, inexperienced though she was, she knew 
that it was not even a so-called love which he experienced, 
but a cruel thirst for conquest, the hunger for revenge, the 
desire to retaliate where he had been slighted and thwarted. 
She reached the door before he could restrain her, and with 
her hand on the bell stood there facing him. She seemed un- 
naturally calm, and her scorn for the man who had tried 
to trap her lent her a dignity, a look of triumph which 
curbed his passion and held him for the moment speechless. 

“Please go,” she said. 


258 


DIVIDING WATERS 


He bowed. 

“By all means. But I shall not take this as your final 
answer.” 

“My husband will answer you — not I.” 

“Do you know what that will mean?” 

“It will mean that I intend to have no secrets from 
him.” 

“You misunderstand me. Do you know the consequences? 
Your husband, as a man of honor, will challenge me. I 
shall have the choice of weapons, and I swear to you that 
I will kill him.” 

She said nothing. Her eyes had dilated, and every trace 
of color had left her face ; but she retained her attitude of 
proud defiance, and he went past her through the open door. 

“You see, I can be patient,” he said, looking back at her. 
“My sister-in-law is giving a ball on the eighteenth. If you 
are there I shall understand. If not — ” He shrugged his 
shoulders. “No doubt your husband will see his way to 
settling Mr. Ingestre’s troubles. As they stand, they are 
likely to cost him his collar. Auf Wiedersehen, gnadige 
Frau” 

He was gone. She waited until the last echo of his steps 
had died on the wooden stairway, then she tottered forward 
and sank into Wolff’s chair, her face buried in her hands. 
She did not cry, and no sound escaped her lips. She sat 
there motionless, bereft of thought, of hope, almost of feel- 
ing. The end, the crisis to which she had been slowly drift- 
ing was at hand. It seemed to her that she heard the roar 
of the cataract which was to engulf her. And there was 
no help, no hope. 

It was thus Miles Ingestre found her an hour later. 
Knowing that Arnim was out, he had donned a dressing- 
gown and now stood staring blankly at his sister, his hair 


NEMESIS 


259 


disordered, his yellow face a shade yellower from the last 
day’s dissipation. 

“Why, Nora!” he said sleepily. “What’s the matter, old 
girl?” 

She looked up. His voice gave her back the power at 
least to act. 

“Rittmeister Bauer has been here,” she said. “He gave 
me this. Is it true?” 

He took the paper which she held toward him and studied 
it, rocking on his heels the while in an uneasy silence. 

“Yes, it seems true enough. What the devil did he give 
it to you for?” 

“He says the creditors are likely to press payment — and 
— and — Wolff will be held responsible. Oh, Miles, what 
have you done? What have you done?” 

The last words broke from her like a cry of despair. They 
seemed to penetrate the thickness of Miles’ phlegm, for he 
laid his hand on her shoulder, his lips twitching with a 
maudlin self-pity. 

“It wasn’t my fault, Nora. I didn’t know what they were 
leading me into. If Wolff had only helped me a bit — if he 
hadn’t been such a stuck-up prig, so beastly self-righteous. 
There, you needn’t break out ! I can’t help it — it’s the 
truth ; it’s not all my fault.” He ran his shaky hand through 
his hair. “And, after all, there isn’t so much to make a 
fuss about. Everybody in our set does that sort of thing, 
and I dare say Bauer will tide me over the worst. He’s a 
decent fellow, and beastly rich. Look here, Nora” — his 
shifty eyes took an expression of stupid cunning — “if you 
asked him — you know he’s a friend of yours — I’ll be bound 
he’d help me.” 

Nora turned and looked at him. In that moment he 
seemed tc> her a complete stranger. Then she gently loosened 


260 


DIVIDING WATERS 


herself from his hand. She did not answer. It was too 
useless. She rose and left him standing there, the silly smile 
still playing about his lips. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE FETISH 

"'V7’ OUR mother is very ill,” the Rev. John had written, 
-L “and I am in an indescribable state of anxiety 
both on her account and yours. Everybody here is quite 
certain that there is going to be war between us and Ger- 
many. Only yesterday the squire was down here talking to 
me about it. He says there is no hope, and that the con- 
flict is bound to come. I do not understand politics myself, 
but it seems the Germans are determined to destroy us and 
get our power. It is very dreadful that a whole nation 
should show itself so avaricious, and I am sure God will 
help us punish so wicked and wanton an attack. All Delford 
is already on foot, and quite a number of young men are 
thinking of enlisting in the Territorials. The squire says 
it is a magnificent sight' to see how the whole country rises 
at the call of danger. He himself has done not a little to 
help the general patriotic movement, and has opened a 
shooting range in a field, where he is teaching his men to 
shoot. The sound of the guns makes me quite nervous, and 
is very bad for your poor mother, but the squire says it is 
helping to produce the best shots in Europe, so we must 
not complain, but bring our sacrifice to the motherland with 
a cheerful countenance. Nevertheless, I am terribly 
troubled. If war should break out — which God forbid ! — 
what will become of you, my poor child, out there in the 
enemy’s country? Could you not make your mother’s health 
an excuse to come back to us, at any rate until the present 

261 


262 


DIVIDING WATERS 


crisis is over? Wolff will surely understand that you can 
not stay in Germany if there is war. Find out from him 
what he thinks of the chances, and notice if there are any 
signs of preparation. If you can, come home. Your mother 
is very much against it, but she is ill and hardly under- 
stands the seriousness of the situation. We must all stand 
together in the moment of danger, and I am sure your heart 
is aching for the dear old country, and that you are longing 
to be with us. I have written to Miles that he is to return 
as soon as ever he thinks fit. He seems to be very tied by his 
studies, so that I do not like to press a hasty decision. You 
must talk it over together.” 

Nora had received this letter by the afternoon’s post. 
She was reading it a second time when Wolff entered the 
room. He had on his parade uniform, and the cheery clatter 
of his sword and spurs jarred on her overstrung nerves. 

“Why this magnificence?” she asked, trying to disguise 
her unreasonable irritability. “Is there anything unusual?” 

“A review to which I am commanded,” he answered 
quietly. “I may be home a little late for supper. I expect 
you will go and see Aunt Magda and Hildegarde. They 
will think it curious if you do not go soon.” 

“They have only just arrived,” Nora said in the same 
tone of smothered irritation. “I could not have gone be- 
fore.” 

Wolff bent over the back of her chair and kissed her. 

“Please go !” he said coaxingly. “You used to be fond 
of them both, and they have been very good to us. Be nice 
to them — for my sake.” 

She was silent a moment, as though struck by a new 
thought. Then she nodded. 

“I shall go this afternoon. Robert was coming, but it does 
not matter.” 


THE FETISH 


263 


“Captain Arnold?” Wolff drew himself suddenly up- 
right. “Were you expecting him?” 

“Yes; he was coming to see me. Have you any objec- 
tion?” 

She had heard the colder, graver note in his voice, and it 
stung her. Was Arnold also to come between them — Arnold, 
in whose hands lay the one chance of rescue from the coming 
catastrophe? Was her last friend to be taken from her by a 
reasonless, unworthy distrust? She looked up into her hus- 
band’s tanned face with a directness which was not unlike 
defiance. 

“I have no objection,” he answered her at last. “You 
know everything pleases me that makes you happy. I only 
beg of you to be careful.” 

“Careful !” she echoed. 

“Captain Arnold has been in Berlin a month,” he went on. 
‘‘It is obvious that he has stayed for your sake, and for my 
part I am glad enough. But' there are the evil tongues, little 
wife.” 

She sprang to her feet. If she could only have told him, 
only unburdened her heart of its crushing trouble, then per- 
haps he would understand, and the widening cleft between 
them be bridged. The words of a reckless confession trembled 
on her lips; but she remembered Bauer and his promise: “I 
swear I will kill him;” and the confession turned to bitter- 
ness, to an impotent revolt against the circumstances of her 
life. 

“The evil tongues !” she echoed scornfully. “Why should 
I mind what they say now? They have taken everything 
from me — all my friends. I have only Robert left. Is it 
wrong to have friends in this country — friends who do not 
listen to the verdict of — of enemies?” 

“It is not wrong, but it can be dangerous,” he answered. 


264 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“You have no enemies, Nora, only people who do not under- 
stand you and whom you have hurt. You have always been 
unfortunate in your friends. They have all stood between 
you and those to whom, by your position, you belong.” 

“You mean that if Arnold were German — ‘one of us,’ as 
you would say — it would not matter?” 

“Not so much.” 

She laughed angrily. 

“How jealous you are!” she exclaimed. “How petty 
and jealous !” 

“Nora!” He was white to the lips, and the hand which 
had fallen involuntarily on his swordhilt showed every bone 
of the knuckles, so tense was the grip. Something in his ex- 
pression frightened her. 

“I do not mean you alone,” she stammered, “but all of 
you. You are jealous of us and you hate us. When you 
marry one of us, you do your best to isolate her, to cut her 
off from her country and her people.” 

“Is that not inevitable — right, even? But have I done 
that?” 

“No.” 

Her conscience smote her as she looked up at him standing 
erect and stern before her. She realized that another and 
graver issue had arisen between them — an issue that was per- 
haps the source of all. She realized that there had been 
something more than fear and a consequent irritability in 
her attitude toward him. She had not seen her husband in 
him, but only the representative of thousands who might 
soon be marching against her country, and for one short 
minute at least she had hated him. The realization horrified 
her, drove her to a reckless attempt at atonement. 

“Oh, forgive me, Wolff !” she cried eagerly. “I am sim- 
ply unbearable this afternoon. Father has written a worry- 


THE FETISH 


265 


ing letter — about mother — and that made me nervous and 
bad-tempered. Forgive me, dear. Don’t be angry at the 
silly things I have said.” 

He yielded to the hands that drew him toward her, and 
kissed her, but rather gravely, as though he more than half- 
doubted her explanation. 

“I am not angry, Nora. I only ask you to try and under- 
stand. God knows” — she thought his voice changed, and 
grew less certain — “I would never willingly come between 
you and any one you cared for, but I have my honor to pro- 
tect, and your honor is mine.” 

“Wolff, what do you mean? Have I done anything dis- 
honorable ?” 

“No, dear. You can not see things from my standpoint. 
You have been brought up with other ideas. I have tried to 
explain before. We have a double task. For our names’ 
sake and for the sake of the uniform we wear we must keep 
ourselves from the very breath of evil. And that applies to 
every one connected with us.” 

Nora drew her hands away. 

“I think I understand,” she said. “For those two fetishes 
everything must be sacrificed. I will do my best to satisfy 
them and you.” 

“Thank you, Nora. I trust you implicitly.” 

She went to the door, hesitated, and then stole out. But 
in that moment’s hesitation she had caught a glimpse of him 
standing at his table in an attitude of dejection, and heard 
a smothered sigh of pain. 

“I am miserable,” she thought, “and I have made him 
miserable. How will it all end?” 

In trembling haste she dressed and hurried out. She had 
a one all-dominating desire to seek help and comfort from 
some one who could understand her, some one, too, who held 


266 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Wolff’s happiness higher than her own and could be just to 
both. She needed a woman’s comfort, and she turned now 
to Frau von Arnim. Hitherto she had shrunk from the in- 
evitable meeting, now she sought it with the desperation of 
one who knows no other course. She had indeed no one 
else to turn to. Before Wolff she was tongue-tied. It was 
not only that silence was forced upon her by a mingled 
pride and fear; the subtle understanding between them had 
been rudely broken, and though their love for each other 
remained, they had inwardly become something worse than 
strangers. For there is no reserve so complete, so insur- 
mountable, so surcharged with bitterness, as that which fol- 
lows on a great passion. And then, too, what had she to 
say to him? “I love you; but I have brought ruin upon 
your life. I love you ; but I am not happy with you.” Had 
she even the right to say that to him? Was it not, in any 
case, useless? Yet she knew she must unburden her heart, 
if for no other reason than that the power to keep silence 
was passing out of her hands. 

Thus it was natural that her footsteps turned for the first 
time toward the little flat near the Brandenburger Tor. And 
on her road she met Arnold himself. It was as though fate 
pursued her. 

“I was on my way to you,” he said quietly, as he turned to 
walk by her side. “I have something to tell you, and should 
have been sorry if we had missed. It is about Miles.” 

Nora glanced at him, and her eyes were full of a miser- 
able gratitude. 

“How good you are to me!” she said. “I have not de- 
served it ; you are my only friend here.” 

“Surely not,” he answered. “What I can do is little 
enough. I have found out the full extent of Miles’ liabili- 
ties and have endeavored to persuade his creditors to wait. 


THE FETISH 


267 


Unfortunately, they are obdurate on the subject. They be- 
lieve there is going to be war and that your brother might 
leave Berlin suddenly. It seems to me that you should do 
one of two things, Nora — either allow me to — to advance the 
money, or to tell your husband the truth.” 

She put up her hand with a movement of involuntary pro- 
test. 

“You know that the first is out of the question,” she said 
proudly. “And the second ! Oh, Robert, I am afraid ! It 
may ruin Wolff, and then — they hate each other so. Wolff 
will send him away, and — ” She broke off with a quick 
breath that was like a sob. 

“Isn’t that the best thing that can happen?” Arnold an- 
swered. “Your brother will never do any good here. He is 
better in England.” 

“Yes, I know, I know. He has been weak and foolish. 
He is so — young.” Her voice was full of a piteous apology. 
“And perhaps it was my fault — a little, at least. But I 
can’t let him go, Robert. Whatever else he is, he is my 
brother, and I am so alone.” 

“Alone!” He looked at her aghast. “What do you 
mean ?” 

“Don’t you understand? It’s so easy — so simple. I am 
a stranger here. I am hated and distrusted. I suppose it was 
inevitable. In a few days you will have gone, and if Miles, 
goes too I shall have no one left — ” 

“Nora !” he interrupted sternly. “There is your husband.” 

“Wolff — yes, there is Wolff. Robert, they say there will 
be a war. Is it true?” 

He frowned with perplexity. For a moment he could not 
follow her thought, and her question seemed to him erratic 
and purposeless. 

“It is possible. For my part, I hope if may come to that. 


268 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Things have been drifting to a crisis for a long time, and we 
must assert ourselves once and for all. These beggars are 
beginning to suspect us of fear or incompetence, and the 
sooner they are disillusioned the better.” Suddenly he 
caught a glimpse of her face, and stopped short. “Nora, 
what is the matter?” 

“You forget,” she said hoarsely. “I am not English any 
more.” 

They walked on in silence, Arnold too startled and over- 
whelmed by the conflict which she in one short sentence had 
revealed to him to speak or think. 

“I was a thoughtless fool,” he said at last. “For the mo- 
ment I could not imagine you as anything but my own coun- 
trywoman. Now I see; and it is terrible for you — terrible. 
Even marriage can not blot out one’s nationality.” 

They had reached the door of the Arnim’s flat, and she 
stopped and faced him with wide-open, desperate eyes. 

“Nothing can!” she said. “And I know this — if there is 
war it will break my heart, or drive me mad. I don’t know 
which.” 

Never before had she felt so drawn to him by all the ties 
of friendship and blood, and yet she went up the steps with- 
out a word of farewell. Arnold understood, and looked 
after her with a tender pity. He believed that he had crushed 
all passion out of his heart, but that a love remained which 
was infinitely greater, purified, as it seemed, from the dross 
of selfish desire. He felt as he stood there that he would 
willingly have given his life to save her from the threatening 
struggle, and yet — such is the irony of things — in that same 
moment he unconsciously brought her even deeper into the 
complicated tangle of her life. The door had opened, and a 
short, plump little woman stood on the threshold. She saw 
Nora, bowed, hesitated as though she would have spoken; 


THE FETISH 


269 


then her eyes fell on Arnold, and she passed on down the 
steps with a cold, blank stare. 

“Who was she, I wonder?” Arnold thought indifferently. 
“What was the matter?” 

Poor Nora could have answered both questions, and a 
numbing sense of hopelessness crept over her as she toiled 
slowly up the stone stairs. She felt already, without know- 
ing why, that she had come in vain. They were all her ene- 
mies, they all hated her. Why should Frau von Arnim be 
different from the rest ? Had not Arnold said, “She is a cold, 
hard woman who will make trouble?” And yet, as she en- 
tered the narrow sitting-room of her aunt’s new home, some- 
thing of her first hope revived. Frau von Arnim was alone. 
She stood at the writing-table by the window, apparently 
looking out into the street, and Nora saw the resolute, aris- 
tocratic profile and graceful figure with a heart-throb of re- 
lief. This woman was like her mother in all that was noble 
and generous — perhaps she would be to her as a mother, per- 
haps she would really understand and help her in her great 
need. 

“Aunt Magda !” she said. Her voice sounded breathless. 
A curious excitement possessed her, so that she could say no 
more. She felt that everything, her whole future life, de- 
pended on Frau von Arnim’s first words. 

The elder woman turned slowly. Had the faintest warmth 
of kindness brightened her face, Nora might have flung her- 
self into her arms and poured out the whole story of her 
errors, her sorrows, her aching sense of divided duty; but 
Frau von Arnim’s face was cold, impassive, and the hand 
she extended indifferent, her kiss icy. Nora drew back. In 
an instant everything in her had frozen. A dawning bitter- 
ness and resentment shut the gates of her heart against all 
confidence, all affection. She felt that here was an enemy 


270 


DIVIDING WATERS 


from whom she need expect neither help nor mercy, and she 
seated herself with the hard, set face of a criminal who 
knows that he is before an unjust judge. 

“I am glad that you have come at last, Nora,” Frau von 
Arnim said calmly. “We had been hoping to see you some 
days ago. No doubt you have a great many friends who 
claim your attention.” 

Her quiet words were free from all sarcasm, and, indeed, 
every trace of feeling, but they stung Nora by their very in- 
difference. 

“I came as soon as I thought you would be glad to see me,” 
she said. “I did not think you would want visitors whilst 
you were settling down.” 

Frau von Arnim studied the sullen girlish face opposite. 
She might well have retorted that a helping hand is always 
welcome, even in “settling down,” and that Frau von Sel- 
eneck, despite her own household cares, had been daily to 
lend her advice and assistance. But it was not Magda von 
Arnim’s custom to reproach for neglect, and, moreover, she 
had another and more important matter on her mind. 

“Hildegarde is lying down at present,” she said in answer 
to Nora’s question, “and perhaps it is just as well. I have 
something I wish to speak to you about whilst we are alone.” 

Nora stiffened in her chair. She felt already trapped and 
browbeaten, and her eyes were bright with defiance as they 
met Frau von Arnim’s steady gaze. 

“I would have written to you,” Frau von Arnim went on, 
in the same judicial tone, “but I knew that my letters would 
find their way into Wolff’s hands, and at that time I felt 
sure that you have some sufficient explanation to offer us for 
the unbelievable story which your friend, Captain Arnold, 
was clumsy enough to relate to us. I felt', as I say, sure that 
there was some painful mistake, and one which it would be 


THE FETISH 


271 


unkind and useless to tell Wolff. Besides, for your sake I 
thought it better to wait. If there was some mistake, as I 
firmly believed, a letter could only have troubled and puz- 
zled you. So I waited, meaning to ask you privately for an 
explanation. Since I have been in Berlin I have heard 
enough to see that my caution was altogether unnecessary.” 

“Aunt Magda !” 

Frau von Arnim lifted a quiet hand, as though to com- 
mand silence. 

“It is obvious that Captain Arnold must have told you of 
our interview,” she said, “and obvious that you have re- 
mained his friend. I hear that he is constantly at your house. 
I do not know what Wolff thinks and feels on the matter. 
He loves you, and is himself too honorable not to have a 
blind confidence in you. That, however, is not sufficient. I 
must know whether that confidence is justified.” 

Nora wondered afterward that she did not get up then and 
go. Every inflection of the calm voice was a fresh insult, 
and yet she felt spellbound, incapable of either attack or 
self-defense. In her mind she kept on repeating, “You are 
cruel, wicked, and unjust !” but the words were never 
spoken ; they were stifled by the very violence of her indig- 
nation and growing hatred. 

Frau von Arnim saw the hatred and interpreted it in the 
light of her own bitterness. For, little as Nora knew it, her 
“enemy” was suffering intensely. There were in Frau von 
Arnim’s heart two things worth more to her than love or hap- 
piness: they were the fetishes against which Nora had railed 
in scorn and anger — “Standesehre” and pride of name. Since 
her arrival in Berlin a scandal had drifted to Frau von Ar- 
nim’s ear which had been like a vital blow at the two great 
principles on which her life was built; and had Wolff been 
the cause instead of Nora she would not have been less se- 


272 


DIVIDING WATERS 


vere, less indignant. As it was, she saw in his wife a care- 
less, perhaps unworthy bearer of her name, and her scorn 
and disappointment smothered what had been, and might 
still have been, a deep affection. 

“I must ask you to answer one question,” she continued. 
“Was it true what Captain Arnold told me? Were you his 
promised wife at the time when you married Wolff?” 

Nora’s lips parted as though in an impulsive answer, then 
closed again, and for a moment she sat silent, with her eyes 
fixed full on her interlocutor’s face. The time had surely 
come to give her explanation, to appeal to the other’s pity 
and sympathy for what had, after all, been no more than an 
act of youthful folly — even generous in its impulse. But 
she could say nothing. The stern, cold face froze her in a 
prison of ice, and she could do no more than answer in a 
reckless affirmative. 

“Yes; it was perfectly true.” 

“Do you think your conduct was honorable, or fair to 
Wolff? Have you no explanation to offer?” 

Nora rose to her feet. She was white with anger. 

“None that I need offer you, Frau von Arnim,” she said. 
Unconsciously she had reverted to the old formal title, and 
in her blind sense of injury and injustice she did not see the 
spasm of pain which passed over the elder woman’s face. 

Frau von Arnim also rose. She appeared calm almost to 
the point of indifference, but in reality her whole strength 
was concentrated on the suppression of her own emotion, and 
for once in a way the generous-minded, broad-hearted woman 
saw and understood nothing but herself. 

“You force me to speak openly, Nora,” she said. “I must 
point out to you that you have done something which in our 
eyes is nearly unpardonable. An engagement is almost as 


THE FETISH 


273 


binding as a marriage, and until it is dissolved, no honorable 
woman or man has the right to enter into another alliance. 
But that is what you did ; and whether you have an explana- 
tion to offer or not, makes, after all, no difference. What is 
done can not be undone. But you are now no longer the 
Miss Ingestre who was free to act as she chose in such mat- 
ters. You are my nephew’s wife, and you bear our name and 
the responsibility which it implies. Whatsoever you do re- 
flects itself for good or evil upon him and upon us all. There- 
fore we have the right to control your conduct and to make 
this demand — that you keep our name from scandal. That 
you have not done. From every quarter I hear the same 
warnings, the same insinuations. It is not only Captain Ar- 
nold who has caused them — I alone know the worst — it is 
your friendship with people outside our circle, your neglect 
of those to whom you are at least bound by duty, if not by 
affection. Before it goes too far to be mended, I ask — I de- 
mand that your intimacy with these people and with this 
Captain Arnold should cease.” 

1 “Captain Arnold is my friend,” Nora exclaimed. “The 
only friend I have.” 

Had Frau von Arnim been less self-absorbed that one 
sentence might have opened her eyes and shown her a pitiful 
figure enough, overburdened with trouble and loneliness. 
But Nora’s head was thrown back, and the defiant attitude 
blinded the other to the tears that were gathered in the 
stormy, miserable eyes. 

“You appear only to consider yourself and your own 
pleasure,” Frau von Arnim answered, “and that is not the 
point. The point is, what is good for Wolff and Wolff’s rep- 
utation? It is not good for either that your name should 
be coupled with another man’s, or that his brother-in-law 


274 


DIVIDING WATERS 


should, in a few weeks, make himself renowned as a drunk- 
ard and a reprobate.” 

Nora took an impulsive step forward. She had come to 
make her confession, her explanation, to throw the burden 
of her brother’s delinquencies upon these stronger shoulders. 
Now everything was forgotten save resentment, the passion- 
ate need to defend herself and her blood from insult. 

“That is not true!” she stammered. “Nothing that you 
have said is true. I have not been dishonorable, and 
Miles — ” She broke off because her conscience accused her, 
and a smile of bitterness passed over Frau von Arnim’s pale 
features. 

“Then all I can say is that English people must have an 
extraordinary sense of honor,” she said. 

Perhaps she regretted her own hasty words, but it was too 
late to recall them. A blank silence followed. Both felt 
that the straining bond between them had snapped and that 
they stood opposite each other like two people separated by 
an untraversable river. 

Nora went to the door and from thence looked back at the 
proud figure of her adversary. 

“You have no right to speak to me as you have done,” she 
said in a voice that she strove in vain to steady. “What I do 
concerns no one but Wolff and myself, and I need not and 
shall not alter my life because of what you have said. You 
can do what you like — tell Wolff everything: I am not 
afraid. As to what you said about us — the English — it only 
proves what I already knew — you hate us because you envy 
us!” 

And with this explosion of youthful jingoism she closed 
the door upon her last hope of help and comfort. But out- 
side in the narrow, dusky hall she broke down. A strange 
faintness came over her, which numbed her limbs and senses 


THE FETISH 


275 


and drew a veil before her eyes. A cry rose to her lips, and 
had that cry been uttered it might have changed the whole 
course of her life, sweeping down the barrier between her 
and the stern-faced woman by its very weakness, its very piti- 
fulness. But she crushed it back and, calling upon the last 
reserves of her strength, went her way, too proud to plead 
for pity where she had already found judgment. 


CHAPTER XII 


WAR-CLOUDS 

N ORA had not seen Amim the whole morning. He sat 
in his study with the door locked, and the orderly had 
injunctions to allow no one to disturb him. Nevertheless, 
toward midday a staff-officer was shown through the draw- 
ing-room into Wolff’s sanctum, and for an hour the two men 
were together, nothing being heard of them save the regular 
rise and fall of their voices. 

“What has the fellow come about?” Miles demanded in a 
tone of injury. “One would think they were concocting a 
regular Guy Fawkes plot, with their shut doors and their 
whisperings — or making plans for the Invasion.” 

Nora looked at her brother. He was lying full-length on 
the sofa, reading the latest paper from home ; and as he had 
done very little else since he had lounged in to breakfast an 
hour late, complaining of a severe headache, Nora strongly 
suspected him of having varied the “Foreign Intelligence” 
with supplementary instalments of his night’s repose. 

“Is there any news?” she asked. She put the question with 
an effort, dreading the answer, and Miles grunted angrily. 

“Things don’t move much one way or the other,” he said. 
“They stay as bad as they can be. The beggars won’t go for 
us — they’re funking it at the last moment, worse luck!” 
“Why ‘worse luck’?” 

“Because it is time the cheek was thrashed out of them.” 
He turned a little on one side, so as to be able to see his sis- 

276 


WAR-CLOUDS 


277 


ter’s face. “What are you going to do when the trouble be- 
gins?” he asked. 

Nora’s head sank over her work. 

“I shall stay by my husband.” 

“Poor old girl !” 

Nora made no answer. She was listening to the voices 
next door, and wondering what they were saying. Was 
Miles’ suggestion possible? Was it true that her husband 
sat before his table hour after hour absorbed in plans for her 
country’s ruin, his whole strength of mind and body set on 
the supreme task? And if so, what part did she play — she, 
his wife? 

“And you, Miles?” she asked suddenly. “What will you 
do?” 

He laughed uneasily. 

“If my Jew friend gives me the chance, I shall make a 
bolt for it,” he said. “It’s a nuisance having all these con- 
founded debts. I wish you weren’t so stand-offish with the 
Bauers, Nora. If you had only sugared them a little — ” 

“Don’t!” she interrupted almost sternly. “Your debts 
must be paid somehow, but not that way. Wolff must be 
told.” 

“Wolff J” He stared at her open-mouthed. 

“There is nothing else to be done, unless father can help 
you.” 

“The pater won’t move a finger,” Miles assured her. “And 
if you tell your righteous husband, there will be the devil of 
a row.” 

He sat up rather abruptly as he spoke, for at that' moment 
the study door opened, and Wolff and his visitor entered. 
Both men looked absorbed and tired, and Wolff’s usually 
keen eyes had an absent expression in them, as though he 
were mentally engaged in some affair of importance and 


278 


DIVIDING WATERS 


difficulty. His companion, however, a tall, ungainly major 
whom Nora had always liked because of his openly-expressed 
admiration for her husband’s abilities, immediately assumed 
his manner of the gay and empty-headed cavalier. 

“You must forgive my taking so much of your husband’s 
time, gnadige Frau ” he said as he kissed Nora’s hand. “I 
had some rather stiff calculations, and I simply couldn’t do 
them alone — you have no doubt heard what a dull person I 
am — so I came round to Arnim for help. There is nothing 
like having a clever junior, is there?” 

He turned to Wolff with his easy, untroubled smile, but 
Wolff’s face remained serious. He was buckling on his 
sword in preparation for departure, and appeared not to have 
heard his major’s facetious self-depreciation. 

“By the way, I have a small invitation for you, gnadige 
Frau ” the elder officer went on. “A sort of peace-offering, 
as it were. My wife is driving out to see the kaiser’s review 
this afternoon, and asks if you would care to accompany her. 
If you have not seen it before it will be well worth your 
while to go.” 

“Thank you. I should be delighted!” Nora said eagerly. 
She knew Major von Hollander’s wife as a harmless if 
rather colorless woman, who had as yet shown no signs of 
joining in the general boycott to which Nora was being sub- 
jected. Besides, every instinct in her clamored for freedom 
from her thoughts and from the stuffy, oppressive atmos- 
phere of this home, which seemed now less a home than a 
prison. She accepted the offer, therefore, with a real en- 
thusiasm, which was heightened as she saw that her ready 
answer had pleased Wolff. He came back after the major 
had taken his leave, and kissed her. 

“Thank you, Nora,” he said. “It is good of you to go.” 

“Why good of me? I want to go.” 


WAR-CLOUDS 


279 


“Then I am grateful to you for wanting.” 

Nora did not understand him, nor did she see that he was 
embarrassed by her question. She felt the tenderness in his 
voice and touch, and it awoke in her a sudden response. 

“Don’t overwork, dear,” she said. “Couldn’t you come 
with us?” 

“I can’t, little woman. When the emperor calls — ” 

He finished his sentence with a mock-heroic gesture, and 
hurried toward the door. The major had coughed discreetly 
outside in the narrow hall, and in an instant duty had re- 
sumed its predominating influence in his life. 

Nora took an involuntary step after him and laid her hand 
upon his arm. She wanted to hold him back and tell him — • 
she hardly knew what ; perhaps the one simple fact that she 
loved him in spite of everything, perhaps that she was sorry 
her love was so frail, so wavering ; perhaps even, if they had 
been alone, she would have thrown down the whole burden 
of her heart and conscience with the appeal, “Forgive me ! 
Help me !” 

It was one of those fleeting moments when, in the very 
midst of discord, of embittered strife, a sudden tenderness, 
short-lived but full of possibilities, breaks through the walls 
of antagonism. Something in Wolff’s voice or look had 
touched Nora. She remembered the first days of their 
marriage, and with hasty, groping fingers sought to link 
past with present. 

“Wolff!” she said. 

Very gently, but firmly, he loosened her clasp. He heard 
the major move impatiently; he knew nothing of the bridge 
which she had lowered for him to cross and take her in his 
old possession. And even if he had known he could not 
have acted otherwise. 

“I must go, dear,” he said. “I am on important duty.” 


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“More important than I am?” 

“Yes, even more important than you are !” 

She drew back of her own accord and let him go. The 
moment’s self-surrender was gone, and because it had been 
in vain the gulf between them had widened. 

Miles laughed as he saw her face. 

“It must be amusing to be married to a German,” he said. 
“I suppose you are never an important duty, are you?” 

Nora went out of the room without answering. She al- 
most hated Miles for his biting, if disguised criticism; she 
hated herself because it awoke in her an echo, a bitter resent- 
ment against her husband. She was the secondary considera- 
tion : he proved it every day of his life. His so-called duty 
was no more in her eyes than an insatiable ambition which 
thrust every other consideration on one side. He had never 
yet given up a day’s work to her pleasure ; he sat hour after 
hour locked in his room, and toiled for his advancement, in- 
different to her loneliness, to the bitter struggle which was 
being fought out in the secrecy of her heart; and when she 
came to him, as in that vital moment, with outstretched 
hands, pleading for his help and pity, he had thrust her 
aside because, forsooth, he had “important duty !” He was 
like those other men she had met who dressed their wives 
like beggars rather than go with a shabby uniform or deny 
themselves a good horse. He was selfish, self-important, and 
she was no more in his life than a toy — or at most an unpaid 
housekeeper, as her father had prophesied. How right they 
had been, those home people ! How true their warnings had 
proved themselves! Her love had intoxicated her, blinded 
her to the insurmountable barriers. She saw now, more 
clearly than ever before, in her dawning recognition, that 
she stood alone, without a friend, in the innermost depths of 
her nature a stranger even to her husband. And he had not 


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281 


helped her. He had left her to her solitude, he had cut her 
off from the one companion who might have made her life 
bearable. He was as narrow, as bigoted as the rest of those 
who judged her by the poor standard of their foreign preju- 
dices and customs. The thought of that last interview with 
Frau von Arnim was fuel to the kindling fire in Nora’s 
brain. She had been treated like a criminal — or, worse, like 
a silly child who has been caught stealing. She had been 
ordered to obedience like a will-less inferior who has been 
admitted into the circle of higher beings and must submit to 
the extreme rigor of their laws. Whereas, it was she who 
had condescended, who had sacrificed her more glorious 
birthright to associate with them! All that was obstinate 
and proud in Nora’s nature rose and overwhelmed the dread 
of the threatening consequences. Let' Frau von Arnim tell 
her husband the truth as she knew it ! Let Wolff despise her, 
cast her and hers from him as, according to his rigid code 
of honor, he was bound to do ! It would but hasten the cat- 
astrophe which in Nora’s eyes was becoming inevitable. 
Her love for her husband sank submerged beneath the accu- 
mulation of a bitterness and an antagonism which was not 
so much personal as national. 

Thus it was in no peaceful or conciliatory mood that she 
took her place in Frau von Hollander’s carriage that after- 
noon. Her manners were off-hand, her remarks tinged with 
an intentional arrogance which led her meek companion to 
the conclusion that public opinion was right, after all, and 
die kleine Englanderin an intolerable person. Nevertheless, 
she did her best to act the part of amiable hostess, and at- 
tempted to draw Nora’s attention to the points of interest as 
they passed. 

“All the regiments in Berlin will be there,” she said with 
a pardonable pride. “That is not a thing one can see every 


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clay, you know. It will be a grand sight. They are the 
finest regiments in the world.” 

“In Germany, perhaps,” Nora observed. 

Her companion made no answer, and Nora tried to be- 
lieve that she was satisfied with her own sharpness. How 
these foreigners boasted ! It was a good thing to point out 
to them that not every one was so impressed with their mar- 
vels. 

Yet, as they reached the Tempelhofer Felde Nora had 
hard work to restrain her naturally lively interest and curi- 
osity from breaking bounds. The regiments had already 
taken up their positions. Solid square after square, they 
spread out as far as the eye could reach, a motionless bulwark 
of strength, bayonets and swords glittering like a sea of 
silver in the bright December sunshine. Wolff had taught 
Nora to recognize them, and she took a curious pride in her 
knowledge, though she said nothing, and her eyes expressed 
a cold, critical indifference. 

“How fine the Kurassiers look!” Frau von Hollander said 
enthusiastically. “I have a cousin among them. They are 
all six-foot men — a regiment of giants.” 

“Rather like our Horse Guards,” Nora returned; “but 
your horses are not so fine.” 

Frau von Hollander pursed her lips, and the bands strik- 
ing up with the National Anthem put an end to the danger- 
ous colloquy. The color rushed to Nora’s cheeks as she 
listened to the massed sound. She thought for an instant it 
was “God Save the King” that' they were playing, and the 
tears of a deeply-stirred patriotism rushed to her eyes. It 
was only a moment’s illusion. Then the dazzling simultane- 
ous flash of arms, a loud, abrupt cheer from the crowd about 
them reminded her of the truth. It was not the king who 
rode past amidst his resplendent staff — it was the German 


WAR-CLOUDS 


283 


emperor — her emperor! She caught a glimpse of the reso- 
lute, bronze face, and because she was at the bottom neither 
narrow nor prejudiced, she paid her tribute of admiration 
ungrudgingly, for the moment forgetful of all the issues that 
were at stake. With eager eyes she followed the cortege as it 
passed rapidly before the motionless regiments. The re- 
sounding cheer which answered the emperor’s greeting 
thrilled her, and when he at last took his stand at the head 
of the staff, and the regiments swung past, moving as one 
man amidst the crash of martial music, she stood up that she 
might lose no detail in the brilliant scene, her hands 
clenched, her pulses throbbing with a strange kind of enthu- 
siasm. It was her first kaiser parade ; it overwhelmed her, 
not alone by its brilliancy but by the solidity, the strength 
and discipline it revealed ; and had Frau von Hollander at 
that moment ventured a word of admiration she would have 
received no depreciatory comparison as answer. But poor 
Frau von Hollander had had enough for one day. She sat 
quiet and wordless, and silently lamented her own good- 
nature in taking such a disagreeable little foreigner with her 
in her expensive carriage. 

The charge past had just begun when Nora heard her 
companion speak for the first time. It was not to her, how- 
ever, but to a young dragoon officer who had taken up his 
stand at the carriage door, and Nora was much too absorbed 
to take any further notice of him. Their conversation, how- 
ever, reached her ears, and she found herself listening me- 
chanically even whilst her real attention was fixed on the 
great military pageant before her. 

“The criticism should be good to-day,” the officer was say- 
ing. “TacLellos, nicht wahr! Even the emperor should be 
satisfied. I don’t think we have much to fear from the fu- 
ture.” 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


“From the future?” Frau von Hollander interrogated. 
She was not a clever woman, and her topics of the day — like 
her clothes — belonged usually to a remote period. 

“I mean n when the row comes,” the dragoon explained. 
“We have all sealed orders, you know. No hurry, no bustle, 
no excitement; but when the emperor presses the button — 
wiff ! — then we shall be en route for England.” 

The brilliant picture before Nora’s eyes faded. She was 
listening now with tight-set lips and beating heart. 

“ Ach , you mean the war!” her hostess said. “My hus- 
band is so reticent on the subject. I never hear anything at 
all. You think it will really come to that?” 

“No doubt whatever — unless the English are ready to eat 
humble-pie. They are afraid of us because they see we are 
getting stronger, but they are equally afraid to strike. Their 
ancestors would have struck years ago, and now it is too late. 
Their navy is big on paper, but absolutely untried. As to 
their army — ” He laughed good naturedly. “That don’t 
give us much trouble.” 

“You mean that it is not big enough?” 

Frau von Hollander was pretending to forget Nora’s ex- 
istence, but there was a spite in her tone which was not alto- 
gether unpardonable. She was grateful for this opportunity 
to pay back the slights of the last hour. 

“It is not merely too small,” the officer returned judi- 
ciously; “it is no good against men like ours. Their so-called 
regulars are picked up out of the gutters, and the rest are un- 
trained clerks and school-boys who scarcely know how to 
shoot — ” 

Nora turned. 

“That is a lie !” she said deliberately. 

The conversation had been carried on loud enough to 
reach the adjoining carriages, and Nora’s clear voice caused 


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285 


more than one occupant to turn in her direction. They saw 
a pretty young woman standing erect, white-lipped, with 
shining eyes, confronting a scarlet-faced officer, who for a 
moment appeared too taken aback to answer. 

“I beg your pardon gnadige Frau” he stammered at last, 
with his hand lifted mechanically to his helmet. “I — I did 
not quite understand — ” 

“I said that it was a lie,” Nora repeated. “Everything you 
said was a lie. We are not afraid of you, and our soldiers 
are the best and bravest soldiers in the world !” 

The dragoon looked helplessly at Frau von Hollander, 
and the latter decided on a belated rescue. 

“It is most unfortunate,” she said with pious regret. “I 
really quite forgot the moment. Frau von Arnim was Eng- 
lish before her marriage — ” 

“ — and is English still!” Nora interrupted proudly. 
“Please let me pass. I am going home.” 

“Then tell the coachman. I can not let you walk.” 

Frau von Hollander was now thoroughly alarmed. She 
felt that the matter had gone too far, and was ready to atone 
in any possible way. But Nora thrust the detaining hand 
aside. 

“I would rather walk,” she said between her clenched 
teeth. She sprang from the carriage, ignoring the dragoon’s 
offer of assistance. That unfortunate young officer followed 
her, his face crimson with very real distress. 

’’Please forgive me, gnadige Frau ” he stammered. “How 
was I to know? Your name was German, and I had no idea 
— and a fellow talks such rot sometimes. Forgive me !” 

He was so young, so sincere and boyish in his regret that 
her heart under any other circumstances might have softened. 
But the insult had fallen on an open wound, and the pain was 
intolerable. 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


“You said what you thought, and you lied,” she said. 
“That is all that matters.’’ 

He drew aside with a stiff salute. 

“I have apologized. I can do no more,” he said, and 
turned on his heel. 

Thus poor Nora toiled her way over the hard, frozen roads 
alone, her thin-shod feet aching, her heart beating to suffoca- 
tion with anger and misery. But she was unconscious of 
pain or weariness. Her English pride, the high love of her 
land had risen like a tide and swept her forward — to what 
end she neither knew nor cared. 


CHAPTER XIII 


ULTIMATUM 

“T DO not know if I have done right in telling you,” 

J- Frau von Arnim said. “I had not meant to do so, but 
circumstances — and Nora — have forced me. Had she of- 
fered me any reasonable explanation, or promised to put an 
end to her intimacy with this Captain Arnold, I should not 
have thought it necessary to speak to you on the matter. She 
chose to ignore my appeal and my advice, and I felt that 
there was no other course left open to me but to warn you 
and to give you my reasons for doing so.” 

“I am sure you meant it all for the best,” Wolff answered. 
“All the same — I would rather have waited until Nora had 
told me herself.” 

He was standing by the window, and did not see the skep- 
tical lifting of his aunt’s eyebrows. She frowned immedi- 
ately afterward, as though annoyed at her own display of 
feeling. 

“It would have been better,” she admitted calmly; “but 
Nora is in a state of mind which does not encourage hope. 
I can not help saying so, Wolff ; she has changed very much 
since the Karlsburg days.” 

“I know,” he answered. “She has changed just in this last 
month or two. Poor little wife !” 

“Other people have noticed it,” his aunt went on. “The 
Selenecks, the Freibergs, all our best friends have the same 
complaint to make. She is off-hand, sometimes deliberately 

287 


288 


DIVIDING WATERS 


rude ; and that sort of thing does not help to stop the scandal 
that is growing round her. Elsa Seleneck does not usually 
klatsch, but she is merciless where Nora is concerned, and it 
is all the more unpleasant because they were once good 
friends. I can only suppose that Nora has come under 
the influence of her brother and this man — this — ” 

“Nora’s friendship with Captain Arnold is absolutely in- 
nocent,” Wolff said firmly. “No doubt they have that sort 
of thing in England.” 

“Perhaps so, but we do not. People see this Englishman 
at your house day after day. There seems no reason for his 
constant visits. They call each other by their Christian 
names and go out together. Who can blame any one for put- 
ting the worst interpretation on Nora’s conduct? And they 
are beginning to blame you, Wolff.” 

“Me?” 

“They say you ought not to tolerate her brother’s presence 
in your house — that you ought to send this Arnold to the 
right-about.” 

He winced. 

“I can’t. She would never forgive me.” 

“Wolff ! Has she grown more important than everything 
else in life?” 

“No, no,” he answered almost impatiently. “But she is 
young and careless — not bad. She has done nothing to de- 
serve such treatment at my hands.” 

Frau von Arnim rose and came to his side. 

“I know that she is not bad,” she said. “At the bottom of 
her heart Nora may be honest, but she is headstrong and 
foolish, and folly can lead to the same catastrophe as delib- 
erate wickedness. Unless you hold her back with a strong 
hand, Wolff, she will alienate you from all your friends, she 
will bring an unpleasant scandal upon our name and perhaps 


ULTIMATUM 


289 


ruin your career. These last two things are more precious to 
me than anything on earth, and that is why I have spoken to 
you and put the matter in its most serious light. You must 
show her how wrong she is.” 

Wolff turned and looked his companion steadily in the 
eyes. He had just returned from a hard afternoon’s work, 
and it was perhaps the recent fatigue which had drawn the 
color from his face and left him with deep lines about the 
mouth and across the white forehead. 

“Is she wrong?” he said. “Do you know, I am not sure, 
Aunt Magda. I am beginning to think the mistake is all 
mine. I loved her so, and she is so impetuous and warm- 
hearted. I carried her off her feet before she had time to 
think, to realize what she was giving up. And now — well, I 
suppose she is beginning to realize ; the glamor has all gone, 
and her love” — he steadied his voice with an effort — “hasn’t 
proved to be what she thought it was. It isn’t strong enough 
to bring the sacrifices, and she is hungry for her own country 
and her own people. One can’t blame her.” 

Frau von Arnim sighed. 

“And when the war comes — what then?” she asked. 

“God knows!” 

He dropped wearily into a chair and covered his face with 
his hands. 

“We can but hope for the best,” he said. “I must wait 
and be patient.” 

“You will say nothing to her, Wolff?” 

“No. I do not understand what you have told me. I can 
not believe that she should have deceived me and kept the 
secret so long, nor can I understand Captain Arnold’s con- 
duct. Nevertheless, I trust Nora, and one day perhaps she 
will tell me everything.” 

His aunt shook her head. That “one day” seemed too far 


290 


DIVIDING WATERS 


off, too impossible, and in the meantime she saw the man 
with the bowed head, and understood something of what he 
was suffering. 

“Do what you think best,” she said, and, obeying a sudden 
impulse of tenderness, she laid her hand upon his shoulder. 
“Only let no harm come to the name, Wolff. It is all I ask, 
for your sake and for mine.” 

He took the hand and lifted it to his lips. 

“You have the right to ask everything,” he said. “Your 
sacrifice — yours and Hildegarde’s — made it possible for me 
to make Nora my wife. I owe you — ” 

“Not your happiness, armer Kerl!” she interrupted sadly. 
“That was what we wanted to give you, but we have not suc- 
ceeded. And you must not call it a sacrifice. We never do. 
You are just my only son, for whom it is a joy to smooth the 
way as much as it lies in our power.” 

She knelt down beside him. All her proud severity had 
melted. Had she shown a quarter of this tenderness to Nora,, 
they would never have parted as they had done. But then 
Nora had sinned against her rigid code of honor; Nora de- 
served punishment — not tenderness. 

“There is another thing I want to say, Wolff,” she went on 
gently. “Seleneck confessed to me that you had sold Bruno. 
I can not understand why you should have done so — unless 
you were short of money.” 

He turned away his head, avoiding her questioning eyes. 

“Won’t you confide in me, Wolff — like you did in the old 
days ?” 

“Of course I will!” He tried to laugh. “Yes, it was 
money, Aunt Magda. You see, I knew we were going to be 
invited to the Hulsons’ to-morrow; and Nora needed a new 
dress — and there were other expenses — ” 


ULTIMATUM 


291 


“Miles Ingestre, for instance?” she suggested bitterly. 

“It was another mouth to feed,” he admitted. “Nora’s 
father doesn’t understand that we are not rich. He hears that 
we invite and are invited, and he thinks — naturally enough — 
that we can afford to keep Miles for a few months. And 
Nora does not quite understand either; so I sold Bruno to 
'smooth things over.” 

He did not tell her what she none the less guessed — that 
many of Wolff’s scanty gold pieces had found their way into 
his guest’s pockets by means of the simple formula, “I’ll pay 
you back as soon as the pater’s check arrives.” Which event 
had, so far, never taken place. 

Frau von Arnim rose and, going to her writing-table, drew 
'out a thick envelope, which she put in his hands. 

“It is our gift to you,” she said. “I have been keeping it 
for — for any time when you might want a little extra, and I 
should like you to have it now. Perhaps you could get 
Bruno back.” 

“I can’t !” he protested almost angrily. “Do you think I 
do not know what you have already given up for my sake — 
your friends, your home, your comfort?” f 

“And do you not know that all has no value for me com- 
pared to the one thing?” she answered, looking him steadily 
in the face. “I want you to remember that, should any 
greater trouble come, any sacrifice would be gladly borne 
rather than disgrace.” 

“Disgrace!” he echoed, with a stern contraction of the 
brows. “Of what are you afraid, Aunt Magda?” 

“I do not know. I only wanted your promise that you 
would always come to me. As to this little gift” — her tone 
became lighter — “it would be an insult to our relationship to 
refuse it. I can not allow my nephew to ride to war on an 


292 


DIVIDING WATERS 


old charger. Surely you will allow me to throw this sop to 
the family pride?” 

So she laughed away his objections, and he sat there with 
drawn, white face and looked about him, recognizing the 
remnants of the old home, knowing for whose sake it was that 
they had come to rest in these narrow, gloomy confines. And, 
after all, it had been in vain. The sacrifices had brought no 
one happiness. 

He rose to go, and as he did so the door opened, and 
Hildegarde stood on the threshold. For a moment he hard- 
ly recognized her. She held herself upright as he had not 
seen her do for nearly three years; her cheeks were bright 
with color and her eyes with the old light, so that it seemed 
as though the time of suffering had been blotted out of her 
life and she was once more his gay, untroubled playfellow. 

“Why, Hildegarde !” he cried delightedly. 

She came laughing toward him and gave him her hand 
with a cheery frankness. Neither by look nor tone did she 
betray that his presence had set her pulses galloping with the 
old pain and the old happiness. 

“Why, Wolff!” she repeated, mocking him. “Do you 
think I am a ghost?” 

“A phoenix, rather,” he retorted gaily, for his joy was un- 
feigned. “I never dared to hope such good things of you. 
What has brought about the miracle?” 

She told him about the “cure” she had been through, still 
in the same easy, unconcerned voice, and only her mother 
noticed the restless movement of the long, thin hands. Per- 
haps it was that one sign of emotion which prevented her 
from urging Wolff to remain. Perhaps she knew, too, that 
Wolff was stifling in the narrow room. 

“You must come back soon, Wolff,” Hildegarde said, as 
he bade her good-by. “You have so much to tell us — about 


ULTIMATUM 


293 


the war and our chances. But I will let you go to-day. You 
look so tired.” 

She did not ask that Nora should come too. She did not 
even mention Nora’s name. Wolff remembered that signifi- 
cant omission as he trudged homewards, and he understood 
that Nora stood alone. She had lost touch with his friends 
and with those nearest to him, and he too had drifted out of 
her life. Such, then, was the end of a love and a union 
which was to have been endless ! A few months of untrou- 
bled happiness, and the awakening ! He felt no anger min- 
gle itself with his grief, rather an intense pity. Though he 
could not understand her conduct in the past, he trusted her 
with the blindness of an unchanged devotion. He believed 
that she would have some explanation. He was sure that 
once at least her love had been sincere, that she deceived 
herself more than she had ever deceived him. She had be- 
lieved her love for him stronger than that for home and peo- 
ple, than any other love. She had been mistaken — that was 
all. An old love had returned into her life and with it the 
old ties. The intoxication of the first passion was over, and 
she had gone back to those to whom she belonged, and a sea 
of racial prejudice, racial differences, and national feeling 
divided her from the man to whom she had sworn, “Thy God 
shall be my God, thy people my people.” He had lost her. 
What then? What was to be the solution to the problem 
that lay before them both? He knew of none, and perhaps 
at the bottom of his heart there was still a glimmer of hope 
that he was mistaken and her friendship for Arnold no more 
than friendship, her change toward him no more than a 
passing shadow. He told himself that when worried and 
overworked as he was, a man can too easily exaggerate the 
extent of a misfortune. Who knew what change for the 
better the next few hours might bring? 


294 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Thus he reached his home with a lighter heart' than he 
had expected. Nora was not yet back from the parade. 
It surprised him, therefore, to hear loud and apparently 
angry voices proceeding from his room. He entered without 
waiting to lay sword or helmet aside, and found Miles and 
an older man, whose appearance warranted the supposition 
that his descent from the Mosaic family was unbroken. 

Wolff looked from one to the other, and perhaps his 
knowledge of both classes of men warned him of what was 
to come. 

“Might I ask for an explanation?” he said quietly. 

Miles was clinging to the back of a chair and trembling 
from head to foot, either with fear or rage or a mixture of 
both. His usually sallow face was now gray and his lips 
twitched convulsively before he managed to answer. 

“I’m beastly sorry, Wolff,” he stammered. “It’s the devil 
of a nuisance, and I swear I never meant to bring you into 
the mess. This — this man has come fussing about some 
money. I told him to wait, but he seems to have got some 
idiotic ideas in his head — ” 

“The Herr Baron will not blame me that I am anxious 
for my moneys,” the Jew interrupted, speaking also in 
broken English and giving Wolff the benefit of a servile 
bow. “Dis gentleman have borrowed much from me, and 
I am a poor man. I vould not have took the risk but dat 
he gave me your name as guarantee. He said dat you vere 
his broder-in-law and dat it vere all safe. Dat is von 
month ago, and since den I have heard no more of my 
genelman, but many English leave Berlin just now, and I 
come to see if vat he say be true.” 

“It is perfectly true. Mr. Ingestre is my brother-in-law.” 

“Den I am satisfied. Der Herr Baron vill see to it as 
officer and genelman.” 


ULTIMATUM 


295 


He took a step towards the door, but Wolff stopped him 
with a curt gesture. Nor for a moment had he taken his 
eyes from Miles’ colorless and sickly countenance. 

“You say that Mr. Ingestre owes you money,” he said. 
“Will you be so kind as to show me the bill?” 

The Jew immediately produced a slip of greasy paper 
and handed it to him. Wolff took it with the tip of his 
fingers, his eyes narrowing with an irrepressible disgust. 
There was a moment’s waiting silence. Miles’ eyes were 
rivited on the carpet, the Jew was taking an inventory of 
the furniture, and neither saw Wolff’s face. For that 
matter, save that the lips beneath the short fair mustache 
had stiffened, there was no noticeable change in his ex- 
pression. 

“Twelve hundred marks !” he said at last, throwing the 
paper on his table. “Have you that sum by you, Miles? 
It would be better to pay this gentleman at once.” 

Miles Ingestre started and glanced loweringly at his 
brother-in-law’s face. He suspected sarcasm, but Wolff’s 
pitiless steel-gray eyes warned him that the time for retort 
had not yet come. 

“Eh — no; I’m afraid I haven’t it,” he stammered. “I 
am expecting a check from home, and of course will pay 
up at once. To tell you, the truth — ” 

His thin, hesitating voice died away into silence. Per- 
haps he felt that Wolff had no desire to hear “the truth.” 
He held his tongue, therefore, and let events drift as they 
might. Wolff had taken Frau von Arnim’s envelope from 
his pocket. He opened it and counted twelve notes for a 
hundred marks each on to the table. 

“Kindly give me your receipt,” he said. 

The Jew obeyed willingly, scratching an untidy signa- 
ture across the bottom of the piece of paper which Wolff 


DIVIDING WATERS 


296 

| 

pushed toward him. With greedy, careful fingers he counted 
the notes and stuffed them in his pocket. 

“It is a great pleasure to deal vid so great genelman,” 
he said as he shuffled to the door. 

Wolff waited until he was gone, then he threw open the 
window as though the atmosphere sickened him. When he 
turned again his expression was still calm, only the nar- 
rowed eyes revealed something of what was passing through 
his mind. 

Miles did not look at him. He was playing with the 
paper-weight on the table, struggling to regain his dignity. 
It bit into his mean soul that he should be indebted to “this 
foreigner.” 

“It’s awfully decent of you, Wolff,” he broke out at' last. 
“I’m really awfully grateful, and of course as soon as my 
money comes — ” 

Wolff cut him short with an abrupt and contemptuous 
gesture. 

“I ask for no promises,” he said, “and make no claim on 
your gratitude. What I have done was not done for your 
sake, but for Nora’s and my own. I do not wish the 
scandal of a disgraceful debt to be associated with my name. 
No doubt you do not understand my point of view, and 
there is no reason why I should explain. There is one 
matter, however, on which I have the right to demand an 
explanation. You have run through something like one hun- 
dred pounds in the time that you have been here. Where has 
this money gone?” 

Miles shrugged his shoulders. The movement' suggested 
that as between one man of the world and another, the 
question was superfluous. 

“Oh, you know — the usual thing,” he said. “Suppers, 


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horses and women. The people I know all did it. It was 
pretty well impossible to keep out of the swim.” 

Wolff detached his sword and seated himself at the table; 
Miles remained standing, and Wolff did not suggest that 
he should change his position. 

“That means probably that you have other debt's,” he 
said. “Is that so?” 

“One hundred pounds goes nowhere,” Miles answered sul- 
lenly. “I didn’t know they would come down on me so 
soon.” 

“You have a curious way of answering a question. Still, 
I fancy I understand you. You will make a list of these 
other debts and lay them before me. After that, you will 
return to England.” He saw Miles’ start of anger, and 
went on deliberately: “You have associated with the scum 
of Berlin, and therein I am perhaps to blame. I should 
have put an end to it before you drifted thus far. But I was 
under the illusion that at your age and as Nora’s brother 
you would be capable of behaving as a man of honor. 
Otherwise, I shouldn’t have allowed you in my house.” 

He opened a drawer and began sorting out some papers 
before him, with the same deliberation, indifferent to the 
look of intense hatred which passed over his companion’s 
face. “You have proved that you cannot rise to so neces- 
sary a standard,” he went on, “and therefore a prolongation 
of your stay under my roof has become impossible. Nora 
must know nothing of this, and there must be no fuss or 
scandal. You will write this evening to your father and 
request him to telegraph for you immediately — the possi- 
bility of war will be sufficient excuse. Until your de- 
parture you will behave as usual, with the exception that 
you do not leave the house. You will, of course, send your 


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apologies to General von Hulson for tomorrow evening. I 
do not wish you to accompany us. That is all I have to say. 
You will do well to make no difficulties.” 

Miles laughed angrily. 

“Do you think I’d make difficulties if I could help it?” he 
demanded. “I’d give ten years of my life to get back to 
England.” 

“There is no object in your making fate such a generous 
offer,” was the ironical reply. “Your debts here will be 
paid — somehow or other. The road home is open to you.” 

“I can’t go without money.” 

“Your passage will be paid for you.” 

“I don’t mean that — I mean — there are reasons which 
make it impossible for me to return — just now — ” 

Arnim swung round in his chair. 

“You mean that you have debts in England?” 

“Yes.” 

“In other words, that you left England on that account?” 

Miles shrugged his shoulders. 

“There were a good many reasons,” he said. 

There was a moment’s silence. Arnim began to write with 
a studied calm. 

“Your debts here will be paid on condition that you leave 
within forty-eight hours,” he said. “I can not do more for 
you. I only do that for Nora and for the sake of my own 
name.” 

Miles leant forward over the table. He was not usually 
clever, but hatred had made him clever enough to take the 
most cruel weapon that lay within his reach. 

“You talk as though I were such a beastly cad,” he said, 
“but you shut your eyes to the other things that go on in the 
house. You are particular enough about your precious honor 
and name where I am concerned; but you let Arnold come 


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into the house and make love to your wife without turning 
a hair.” 

“Miles, take care what you are saying !•” 

“I don’t mind telling the truth. I have seen them — ” 

Wolff held up his hand, and there was something in the 
movement which checked the flood of malice and treachery 
and sent Miles back a step as though he had been struck. 

“You can go,” Wolff said quietly. 

Again Miles wavered, torn between rage and cowardice. 
He hated this iron- willed martinet with his strait-laced prin- 
ciples and intolerable arrogance, but his fear was equal to his 
hatred, and after a moment he turned and slunk from the 
room. 

Arnim went on writing mechanically. His brain — the 
steeled, highly trained brain — followed the intricate calcula- 
tions before him with unchanged precision, but the man him- 
self fought with the poison in his blood, and in the end con- 
quered. As a strong swimmer he rose triumphant above the 
waves of doubt, suspicion, and calumny which had threat- 
ened him and held high above reach the shield of his wife’s 
honor. It was all that was left him — his trust in her, his 
belief in her integrity. He knew that a crisis was at hand. 
With Miles’s departure would come the moment in which 
Nora would have to make her choice between the home and 
people which he represented and her husband. How would 
she choose ? The hope that had comforted him before seemed 
all too desperate. Family and country called her, and her 
love was the last frail bond which held her to him. Would 
it hold good? Had it not perhaps already yielded? Wasl 
she not already lost to him ? 

Yet as he heard the door of the neighboring room open 
and the sound of her quick footsteps, the hot blood rushed 
to his face, his pulses beat faster with the hope kindled to 


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something that was almost a joyous certainty. She was com- 
ing to him. He would see her standing irresolute before 
him, and he would take her in his arms and by the strength 
of an unconquerable love draw her back over the tide which 
was flowing faster and broader between them. It was im- 
possible that he should lose her, impossible that the out- 
ward circumstances of their lives should be stronger than 
themselves and what had been best in them — their love. 
Even when the footsteps stopped and he remained alone, 
the impossibility, absurdity, of it all was still predominant 
over despair. He rose and pulled open the door. He 
had no clear conception of any plan. He was so sure 
that the moment they stood face to face she would under- 
stand everything by some miracle of sympathy, the very 
thought' of an “explanation” was a sacrilege against the 
power with which he felt himself possessed. 

“Nora !” he cried joyfully. “Nora !” 

She stood immediately opposite him. Her hat had been 
flung recklessly on the table, and her hair was disordered, 
her face white and drawn. She made no answer to his greet- 
ing. Her eyes met his with no light in their depths. They 
were somber, black, and sullen. 

“Nora!” he repeated, and already the note of triumph had 
died out of his voice. “What is the matter?” 

She came at once to him, taking his hands, not in affection 
but in a sort of feverish despair. 

“Wolff,” she said, “I want to go away from here — I want 
to go home !” 

The moment of hope and enthusiasm was over. Some- 
thing mysteriously cold and paralyzing had passed like an 
icy breath over his self-confidence and changed it to frigid 
despair. He could not even plead with her, nor tell her of 
the love which he felt for her nor of the pain which he suf- 


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fered. Everything lay at the bottom of his heart a dead, 
frozen weight. He loosened her hands from his arm and 
forced her gently into a chair. 

“You want to go away?” he said quietly. “Why?” 

“Because I hate this place and — and every one.” 

“Does that include your home and your husband, Nora?” 

She laughed wildly. 

“My home! This isn’t my home: it never has been. I 
have always been a stranger — an exile here. Everything is 
foreign to me — everything hateful. If you were twenty 
times my husband, I should say it. I loathe and detest this 
country and I loathe and detest your people. I am English. 
I was mad, mad, mad to believe I could ever be anything 
else !” 

She was hysterical with fatigue and excitement, and 
scarcely conscious of what she was saying. But Wolff, who 
knew nothing of what had happened at the parade, heard 
in her words a deliberate and final declaration. 

“If you hate my country and my people, you must hate 
me,” he said. “Has it come to that already?” 

She sprang to her feet as though goaded by some frightful 
inner torment. 

“No, no, I don’t hate you,” she cried. “I love you at the 
bottom — at least, I believe I do. I can’t tell. Everything in 
me is in revolt and uproar. I can’t see you clearly as you 
are, as I love you. You are just one of those others, one of 
those whom I detest as my deadliest enemy. That is why I 
must go away. If I stayed, God knows, I believe I should 
grow to hate you.” 

Every trace of color faded out of his face, but he did not 
speak, and she ran to him and clasped his arm with the old 
reckless pleading. 

“Let me go!” she begged. “Let me go home! Things 


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will be better then. I shall quiet down. I shan’t be so con- 
stantly maddened and irritated as I am now. I shall have 
time to think. Wolff, I must go !” 

“If you go now, it will be for ever,” he said steadily. 
“The woman who leaves her husband and her country in the 
time of danger sacrifices the right to return.” 

“Wolff !” Her hands sank to her side. She stared at him 
blankly, horror-stricken. 

“You must see that for yourself,” he went on in the same 
tone of rigid self-control. “If war breaks out and you re- 
turn to England, you can never come back here as my wife. 
I am a German and an officer, and the woman who shares 
my life must share my duty. That is the law. It is a just 
and right one. Husband and wife can not be of different 
factions. They must stand together under the same flag. In 
marrying me you accepted my country as your own. If you 
leave me now, you are turning traitor, and there must be no 
traitors amongst us.” 

He put the case before her with pitiless logic, more over- 
whelming than the fiercest outburst of passion. The hyster- 
ical excitement died out of her face. 

“A traitor!” she repeated dully. “How can I be that? 
How can any one give up their country?” 

“I do not know,” he answered, “and therefore whatever 
you choose I shall not blame you. I only show you the in- 
evitable consequences.” 

“Wolff, I can’t stay here. Everybody hates me. I can’t 
hide what I feel. You don’t know the things I have done— 
and said. I — I insulted some one this afternoon.” 

“It can all be lived down,” he returned. “People will 
forgive and understand, if you stand by us.” 

“But I can’t — not in my heart of hearts. Wolff, if war 
breaks out, I shall be praying for your ruin — yes, in your 


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303 


very churches I shall pray for it. Perhaps my prayers will 
direct the very bullet that kills you — ” 

Her voice shook with a kind of smothered horror, which 
stirred the cold weight in his heart to pity. 

“Hush, Nora, hush! That is all exaggerated feeling. It 
is hard for you, but you must choose. Either you must sacri- 
fice your counfry or your husband. That is the simple issue.” 

“Why should I bring the sacrifice?” she retorted. “Why 
must I be the one to give up everything that I was taught to 
love and honor next to God? If you love me, leave the 
army, leave Germany ! Let us go away — anywhere — and be 
happy together !” 

“Nora !” 

“You see !” she exclaimed with bitter triumph. “That is 
too much to ask from you !” 

“I am a soldier,” he said. 

“Then I would to God I had been born to so easy a pro- 
fession !” 

She turned away, battling with the fierce, angry sobs that 
choked her. The next instant his arms were about her. 
There was no hope and no joy in his embrace. He held her 
as he might have done in the midst of shipwreck and before 
the approach of death. 

“Do you think it is easy to put before you the choice — 
knowing what you will choose?” he asked. 

“Knowing — ?” she stammered. 

“You do not love me enough to stand by me.” 

“That is not true !” 

She freed herself and took a step back, searching his face 
as though to find there an answer to some agonizing doubt. 

“That is not true,” she repeated breathlessly. 

He lifted his hand in stern warning. 

“Think, Nora ! We stand, you and I, at the parting of the 


304 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ways. Make your choice honestly — I shall not blame you. 
But once you have chosen, there must be no turning back. If 
you choose to follow me, it must be to the bitter end of your 
duty. You must curse my enemies and bless my friends. 
Otherwise there can be no peace and happiness between us. 
If you choose your country — and those others whom you love 
— you shall go to them. I shall keep you in my heart until I 
die, but I will never see you again.” 

In spite of his strongest effort, his voice shook, and that 
one signal from the depths of his despair called forth the 
one and only answer of which her headlong, passionate na- 
ture was capable. She flung herself into his arms, clinging 
to him in a storm of grief and pity. 

“With God’s help, I will stand by you to the end, my hus- 
band I” 

For a long minute he held her to him, and then gradually 
he felt how her whole frame relaxed and her arms sank pow- 
erless to her side. He looked down into her face. It was 
very pale, and a faint, childlike smile of utter weariness hov- 
ered round the half-open lips. 

“I am so tired, Wolff,” she said under her breath, “so 
tired !” 

Without answering, he bore her to the sofa and laid her 
with a clumsy tenderness among the cushions. But he did 
not speak again. For the moment the conflict was over; a 
truce had been called between them. Only his instinct knew 
it was no more than that. Thus he knelt down silently be- 
side her, and with her hand still clasped in his watched over 
her as she slept. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE CODE OF HONOR 



ORA stood before the long glass in the drawing-room 


1 N and studied herself with a listless interest. The ex- 
pensive white chiffon dress which Wolff had given her for 
the occasion became her well, and at another time she might 
have found an innocent pleasure in this contemplation of her 
own picture. But she was exhausted, spiritually and physic- 
ally. The storm of the day before had shattered something 
in her — perhaps her youth — and she saw in the mirror only 
the pale face and heavy eyes, and before her in the near fu- 
ture an evening of outward gaiety and inward trial. That 
which she had once sought after with feverish desire — mag- 
nificence and contact with the great world where stuffy flats 
and poverty were unknown — had become her poison. She 
shrank instinctively, like some poor invalid, from all noise 
and movement. She would have been thankful to be able to 
lie down and sleep and forget, but Duty, that grim fetish to 
which she had sworn obedience, demanded of her that she 
should laugh and seem merry beneath the critical, question- 
ing eyes of those who to-morrow might be fighting against 
her people. 

Miles was lying in his usual attitude on the sofa, watching 
her. He had been curiously quiet the whole day, keeping to 
the house and avoiding Arnim with an increased shyness. 
Nora believed that she understood him. She did not see that 
his young face was sallow and lined with dissipation, nor 


305 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


that his furtive eyes were heavy and bloodshot. She saw in 
him only the brother, the Englishman, and that one fact of 
his nationality covered him with a cloak, hiding from her 
all that was pitiable and contemptible, lending him a dignity, 
a worthiness that was not his. So also she interpreted his 
general conduct and his abrupt refusal to accompany her to 
the Hulsons’ ball. She felt that he was awaiting the hour of 
departure to his own country, chafing at the bonds which 
held him, and that, like a true Englishman, he shrank from 
all further association with his future enemies. She honored 
him for it — she envied him for it ; but she dreaded her own 
loneliness. She came to his side and laid her hand gently 
on his shoulder. 

“I wish you were coming too,” she said, “for my sake, not 
for yours.” 

“I can’t,” he retorted sullenly. 

“No, I know. I was not going to try and persuade you. 
I understand so well how you feel. Oh, Miles, you must go 
back to England — we must manage it somehow. I shall tell 
Wolff to-night. Things can’t be worse than they are — and 
perhaps he will help.” 

Miles Ingestre looked at her keenly. An expression that 
was half cunning, half amused lifted the moody shadows 
from his face. It was obvious that she did not know what 
had passed between Wolff and himself, and it was not his 
intention to tell her. His promise to Wolff on the subject 
did not weigh with him — he had other and better reasons for 
keeping silence. In the first place, he had no wish to awaken 
any sense of gratitude toward her husband in Nora’s heart; 
in the second, he still needed money. 

“You need not worry him with my debts,” he said care- 
lessly. “They can wait, and anyhow they wouldn’t keep me 
in Berlin. The difficulty is on the other side.” 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


307 


“In England?” 

“Yes ; I must have ready money somehow. I can’t go back 
until the way has been cleared a little.” He pulled himself 
up on to his elbow. “Look here, Nora, you could help me if 
you wanted. Wolff can’t and won’t do anything, but there’s 
Bauer. You don’t need to look so shocked — he’s told me 
himself that he would do me a good turn, only his sister-in- 
law has the purse-strings, and you have rather offended her. 
If you went to her ball on the eighteenth — ” 

“Miles, it is impossible ! You don’t know — ” 

“I only know that if you don’t help me I shall be in a bad 
fix. When the war breaks out — ” 

“Is war certain?” 

“Unless they funk it. I believe the ambassador has his 
trunks packed and his carriage waiting.” 

Nora made a gesture of mingled impatience and despair. 

“Why must there be war?” she cried. “Why can’t we 
leave each other alone? What in the world is there to 
quarrel about?” 

“Nothing!” Miles retorted. “The whole thing is got up. 
The beggars want more than is good for them, and we’ve got 
to keep them in their places. That’s the gist of the matter. 
It has to come sooner or later.” 

Nora was silent. His words, with their unvaried mingling 
of scorn and pride, aroused in her an equally mingled feeling 
of irritation and sympathy. Why was he so sure of victory, 
why so scornful of “these foreigners?” What right had he 
to be either contemptuous or arrogant? What right had she 
to share those feelings with him, even if only in the secret 
places of her heart ? 

“By the way,” Miles went on, watching her intently. 
“What’ s the matter with you and poor old Arnold ? Fie has 
been here twice to-day, and you have been so-called ‘out’ each 


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time. I got a note from him asking what was up. It’s pretty 
rough luck on him, as he wants to say good-by.” 

“Good-by?” Nora repeated. She had started perceptibly, 
and Miles grinned. 

“He has marching orders, and is leaving to-morrow night. 
I bet he would have gone days ago if it hadn’t been — well, 
for some one !” 

“Miles, I will not have you talk like that !” 

She had turned on him scarlet with anger and humiliation, 
but Miles only burst out laughing. 

“You need not get into such a rage, sweet sister mine! I 
didn’t say it was you , though if the cap fits — ” He broke off 
into a sulky silence. Wolff had entered. He was in full 
dress, and bespattered with mud, as though he had returned 
from an arduous ride. In one hand he carried a dispatch 
case. One glance at his face showed them that he controlled 
a strong excitement. 

“I am awfully sorry, Nora,” he said hurriedly, “it is im- 
possible for me to accompany you. I have been driven from 
pillar to post the whole day, and now I have some work 
which will take me the whole night. You must give my ex- 
cuses to General von Hulson. He will understand why it is. 
A good many officers will be absent' for the same reason.” 

“Then I must go alone?” she asked. 

Absorbed as he was, he heard the reproach and annoyonce. 

“Do you mind that?” 

“I shall hate it !” she said emphatically. 

The word “hate,” with all its too recent associations, 
caused him to look at her closely. He saw that she had lost 
her pallor, and that the old defiant light burnt in her eyes. 

“Perhaps it would be better, then, if Miles accompanied 
you,” he said. “There is still time.” 

“I do not wish Miles to do anything he objects to,” she 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


309 


returned coldly. “No doubt he has his reasons for not go- 
ing.” 

Wolff’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. 

“No doubt,” he said, glancing in Miles’s direction; “but 
perhaps if I added my appeal to yours he would consent to 
overcome — his reasons.” 

Miles rose sullenly to his feet. 

“If you want it — of course,” he mumbled. 

Wolff nodded absently. He went into his room, closed the 
door, leaving Nora alone. There had been an expression of 
anxiety on his face which did not, however, excuse his appar- 
ent indifference in Nora’s eyes, and she stood frowning after 
him, puzzled and deeply wounded. But she made no attempt 
to follow him. The scene of the previous evening had been 
a last effort ; she was too weary, too hopeless to strive again 
after a reunion which seemed already an impossibility. 

Twenty minutes later Miles reappeared in the full glory 
of his evening clothes. Nora was surprised — perhaps a lit- 
tle disappointed — to observe that his spirits had risen. 

“The carriage is waiting,” he said. “Hurry up, or we 
shall be late.” 

N ora hesitated. A superstitious clinging to an old custom 
led her to the threshold of Wolff’s room. She tried the han- 
dle of the door without' effect, and when she turned away 
again her cheeks were scarlet. 

“Locked, eh?” Miles said. “I bet he’s afraid of us catch- 
ing sight of his papers. Arnold said some of those staff fel- 
lows have the handling of pretty valuable stuff.” 

Nora, gave no attention to his words, though she was des-; 
tined to remember them. She led the way down the narrow 
stairs into the street where the cab was waiting for them, and 
a minute later they were rattling out of the little by-st'reet 
into the busy thoroughfare. 


310 


DIVIDING WATERS 


It seemed to Nora that the crowds were denser than usual, 
that a curious unrest was written on the usually placid, cheer- 
ful faces that flashed past the open carriage window. She 
remembered Wolff’s expression as he had entered the room; 
she felt now that it had been the unconscious reflection from 
those other faces, and that the one invisible bond of sym- 
pathy which unites all men of the same race had passed on 
the flame of patriotism from one to another, till in all these 
thousands there burned, above every meaner passion, the su- 
preme Vaterlandsliebe. Only she felt nothing, nothing — 
though she was bound to them by oath — save fear and hor- 
ror. She felt alone, deserted. Miles was the one being in 
the whole seething crowd who felt as she felt, who suffered 
as she suffered. She turned to him with an impulsive ten- 
derness. He was not looking out of the window, but staring 
straight before him, with his low forehead puckered into 
thoughtful lines. 

“It’s a queer thing,” he said, as though he felt her ques- 
tioning glance. “Here w r e both are in a foreign country, mix- 
ing with people whom we shall be blowing up to-morrow, 
and to-day not moving a finger to harm them, just because 
the word has not been given, as it were. If I threw a bomb 
amongst all those big-wigs to-night, who knows what victo- 
ries I might prevent ? — and yet I suppose it would be murder. 
And then, there is Wolff stewing over papers that, I bet, the 
English War Office would give a few thousands just to look 
at ; you and I sit and watch him and never move a hand.” 

“What do you expect us to do ?” she returned listlessly. 

“Nothing, I suppose.” 

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and once in the 
ball-room, Nora lost sight of her brother completely. He 
drifted off by himself, whither and with whom she could 
not think, for she knew that he had no friends in the 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


311 


brilliant crowd. She, too, was friendless, though there 
were many there who bowed to her and passed on, and 
for the first time she realized the full extent of her isola- 
tion. The Selenecks were not there, and she was glad 
of their absence: she would have hated them to have been 
witnesses of her loneliness. Those whom she knew, whose 
comradeship with her husband should have guaranteed a 
certain courtesy, passed her by. Nora cared nothing for 
them, but the humiliation stung her to the quick. She was 
English, and because she was English they insulted her, 
tacitly and deliberately. N ot all the months in her husband’s 
country had taught her to understand that she had insulted 
them, that she had trampled on their pride of race, and 
scorned the customs and opinions which were their holiest 
possessions. It never occurred to her that the description 
of the scene of the previous afternoon had passed from lip 
to lip with the rapidity of lightning, and that in the eyes of 
that mighty brotherhood of soldiers, and of that still might- 
ier sisterhood of their wives, she was branded as a renegade, 
as a woman who had spat upon her husband’s uniform, and 
exalted another race above that to which she belonged — a 
D eutschf eincLliche, an enemy who masqueraded among them 
under a transparent guise of hypocritical friendship. Per- 
haps some pitied her ; but for the most part they were the 
older men, whose experience taught them to be pitiful — and 
they were not present on this particular night. Even if they 
had been they could have done nothing. She was an out- 
cast, ^and for them she had made herself “unclean.” 

Thus poor Nora, still young and headstrong in all her 
emotions, her sensibilities raw with the events of the last 
weeks, stood alone and watched the scene before her with 
eyes from which the tears were held back by the strength of 
pride alone. 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


There must have been considerably over two hundred 
guests present, almost exclusively officers of lower rank, with 
here and there a civilian to throw the brilliant uniforms into 
more striking relief. Nora could not but be impressed by 
the tall, finely built men, with the strong-cut, bronzed faces, 
and in each she saw T a dim reflection of her husband. There 
was perhaps no real resemblance, but they were of one type 
— they were German, and that one similarity aroused in her 
the old feeling of wild opposition against the man she loved, 
and whom she had sworn to stand by to the end. Her love 
for him was as genuine as her admiration for these, his 
brothers — as genuine as her hatred for him and for them all. 

In the midst of her bitter reflections she heard a voice 
speak to her, and, turning, found Bauer at her side. She had 
expected him the whole evening, and her humiliation deep- 
ened as she saw the cynical satisfaction in his eyes. She knew 
that he was triumphing in the belief that he had won, that in 
her loneliness she would turn to him, and the knowledge 
changed her misery to a desperate pride. 

“Well, gnadige Frau , 33 he said. She made no answer, and 
his smile broadened. “You see, I am very punctual,” he went 
on. “I have come for my answer. What is it to be?” 

“I gave it you once,” she returned. “Is that not enough?” 

“Circumstances can alter the most determined. Are you 
not tired of this Pharisaical crowd, who pretend to look upon 
you as dirt because you do not pronounce their shibboleth as 
it pleases them? Are you not ready now to come amongst 
friends who wish you well — who would help you? You have 
only to say the word.” 

She looked about her, feeling her isolation like an icy 
wind, and for an instant knew temptation. How easy it 
would be to yield ! What, after all, had he asked of her? — 
her friendship, common politeness for the woman who had 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


313 


shown her kindness. What had he offered her? His help 
and support in her loneliness and need. Then she remem- 
bered — and the temptation passed. 

“My answer remains the same, Herr Rittmeister.” 

His face became suffused with a dull red. 

“Gnadige Frau , take care! It' is not only your brother 
who will suffer for your decision !” 

She heard the angry threat in his voice, and a feeling of 
contempt and aversion, almost physical in its intensity, came 
over her. She looked about her, half unconsciously seeking 
some way of escape. Miles was nowhere to be seen. Her 
eyes flashed rapidly over the crowd, picking out the black 
evening coats, and then for the first time she saw Arnold. 
She went to meet him, regardless of prudence, of the rage in 
Bauer’s eyes, of the malice and suspicion that watched her 
from every side. She only knew that a friend had come to 
her in the midst of enemies, and that she was no longer alone. 

“Oh, Robert !” she cried. “How glad I am to see you ! 
How did you manage to come here?” 

“The Ambassador got me the invitation,” he said, taking 
her hand in his strong clasp. “God knows it isn’t the time 
to seek such hospitality, but I had to see you somehow, Nora, 
before I went.” 

“Let us get away from this crowd. We can’t talk here.” 

He gave her his arm and led her to one of the supper- 
tables that were placed beneath the gallery. 

“We can pretend to want coffee, or something of the sort,” 
he said. “No one will disturb us.” 

She looked across and smiled at him with a fleeting radi- 
ance. Oh, that English voice, that English face ! Laughter 
of relief and thankfulness fought with the tears that had so 
long lain checked, and now struggled for release beneath the 
touch of a friend’s unspoken sympathy. 


314 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Nora, what is wrong?” he went on. “Why wouldn’t you 
see me? Have I offended you in any way?” 

“Offended me!” She laughed brokenly. “Do I look of- 
fended, Robert? Don’t you know I could have danced for 
joy when I saw you coming?” 

Reckless Nora! Her words, spoken in a moment of re- 
lief from an agonizing pressure, had not the meaning which 
he believed he read out of them. Something was not any 
longer so selfless, so resigned, flashed into his steady gray 
eyes. 

“Then what is it, Nora? Tell me everything. You know 
you have promised me your friendship.” 

She did not hesitate an instant. Those three hours be- 
neath the enemy’s fire had driven her to exasperation, to that 
point of hysterical nervousness from which most feminine 
folly is committed. 

“They forbade my seeing you,” she said — “not in words; 
but they said things which left me no choice. They said I 
was bringing disgrace upon my husband, and upon his 
name — ” 

“Nora! Who said that?” 

“Frau von Arnim. She hates me. And Wolff said much 
the same. They can’t understand a straight, honest friend- 
ship between a man and a woman.” 

“You mean it was because of me?” 

“Yes. Of course Frau von Arnim knows everything about 
— about the past, and she believes — oh, it is too horrid what 
she believes. We don’t need to think about it. She has not 
told Wolff. If she had he would have turned me out of the 
house or locked me up in th'e cellar. None of them — not 
even he — can understand. Oh, Robert, you don’t know how 
hard it was to have to send you away! You and Miles are 
the only people in all this big city to whom I can turn.” 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


315 


Arnold sat silent, staring in front of him. His pulses were 
beating with a growing, suffocating excitement. He knew 
by every tone of her voice, by every glance of her stormy, 
miserable eyes, that she was in his power, that he had but to 
make the appeal and she would follow him out of the room 
whithersoever he led her. The knowledge touched his steady- 
flowing blood with fever — in the same moment he was con- 
scious of remorse and shame. He had lingered at her side 
against every behest of wisdom and honor, deceiving himself 
and her with an assumption of loyal, disinterested friendship. 
It was no friendship. Those who had judged it by another 
name had judged rightly. He had come between husband 
and wife, he was at that very moment, -willingly or un- 
willingly, playing the part of tempter in the devil’s comedy. 

“Nora,” he began, “perhaps I have done you harm. Per- 
haps I ought not to have come to-night.” 

“I don’t care !” she retorted recklessly. “I don’t care 
whether anything is right or wrong. When you came I was 
desperate. I hate every one here. It is awful to feel that I 
belong to them. I want to get away from here — home, to 
England.” 

“Nora — for God’s sake!” He w r as frightened now — of 
her and of himself. “You must not talk like that. Your 
home is here with your husband.” 

“It is not !” she retorted, in the same low r , trembling voice. 
“It is in England — it can never be anywhere else. Oh, you 
don’t know what I suffer !” 

“I can guess. Why don’t you tell Wolff everything? Why 
don’t you confide in him?” 

Everything in him revolted against his own words. They 
were spoken, not out of innermost conviction, but as a stern 
tribute to his honor, and the principles which were bred into 
his bone and blood. 


316 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I have,” she said, “but it was of no good. He could not 
help me — no one can. It is as he said — one must choose.” 

“Poor child !” 

“I deserve it all. It is my punishment. I did wrong in 
marrying Wolff, I did wrong to make you suffer. And now 
I suffer — ” 

“Nora!” An immense tenderness crept into his voice. He 
heard it, and the next moment he had regained his self-con- 
trol. He was ashamed of the role he had been about to play. 
“We must bear our lot,” he said sternly. 

The waltz, under cover of which their rapid conversation 
had taken place, died into silence, and close upon the mo- 
mentary hush that followed, they heard the dull thud of a 
falling body, a crash of glass and a low hubbub, above which 
one loud angry voice was distinctly audible. Nora started 
to her feet. Whether she had recognized that voice, or 
whether she was led by some instinct, she did not know. Her 
heart was beating with fear and excitement. 

“Something has happened !” she exclaimed. “Quick !” 

Arnold followed her in the direction whence the sounds 
came. In one of the adjoining alcoves a little group of offi- 
cers had collected, and as they approached near enough to 
see what was happening, Arnold turned to Nora and tried to 
draw her on one side. 

“Don’t go !” he said. “It is some silly quarrel ! Let me 
see to it.” 

“No, no!” she returned hoarsely, and pushed forward to 
the outside of the circle. She saw Miles standing by the 
table; he was leaning on it as though for support, his dress 
was disordered, his features crimson with drink and passion. 
A young officer had hold of him by the arm and was evi- 
dently trying to hold him back. A few feet away Bauer 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


317 


was rearranging his collar, with an assumption of contemptu- 
ous calm. A red scar upon his cheek told its own story. 

“You damned liar!” Miles shrieked in English, struggling 
against the detaining hold upon his arm. “If it wasn’t that 
they protected you I’d thrash you within an inch of your 
life!” 

His opponent smiled scornfully. 

“I do not care for boxing-matches in a ball-room,” he said, 
“not even with an intoxicated Englishman. Captain von 
Ebberstein, I should be very glad if you would represent me 
in this matter.” 

The one elderly officer present bowed, and approached 
Miles, whom he also saluted with a faultless formality, 
which contrasted strikingly with the other’s unsteady, excited 
movements. 

“Perhaps the gentleman would kindly name his seconds,” 
he said. “The continuation of this affair can then be ar- 
ranged on a more becoming occasion.” 

Arnold tried to loosen Nora’s grasp upon his arm. 

“I must get him out of this somehow,” he whispered. 
“They are trying to force him into a duel.” 

Miles, however, gave him no time to interfere. 

“What the devil do you mean?” he demanded. 

The officer shrugged his shoulders. 

“You felt yourself wounded in your honor and have 
avenged yourself by insulting this officer here. That can 
have but one meaning.” 

“I swear I don’t know what you are talking about !” 

“There are certain injuries for which there is but one rem- 
edy,” was the cold explanation. 

A light seemed to dawn over Miles’s scarlet face. He 
burst into a high, wavering laugh. 


318 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“You think I am going to fight a duel? You think I’m 
going to make such a damned fool of myself?” he demanded 
thickly. 

The officers looked at each other in contemptuous silence. 
Bauer smiled and turned aside, as though to spare himself 
the sight of so profound a humiliation. Captain von Ebber- 
stein alone retained his expression of profound gravity. 

“A gentleman is expected to give satisfaction,” he said. 

“I don’t care what you expect,” was Miles’s retort. “I’ll 
have nothing to do with such infernal nonsense. He lied, 
and I choked the lie down his throat, and there’s an end to 
the matter !” 

“On the contrary, it is the beginning.” 

“I think differently.” 

Bauer advanced. He was swinging his white kid glove 
carelessly backward and forward, and there was the same 
scornful smile about his lips. At the same moment his eyes 
fell on Nora’s face, and the smile deepened with malicious 
satisfaction. 

“In that case, it is my duty to inform you that you are 
neither a gentleman nor a man of honor,” he said. “As such, 
and as a coward, you will feel no objection to my expressing 
my feelings — thus !” 

He flung the glove full into Miles’s face. 

There was a moment of expectant silence. Miles appeared 
to ignore what had happened. The temporary excitement 
was over, and the wine was beginning to numb his senses 
with the first touch of drowsiness. It was Arnold’s opportu- 
nity. He pushed through the little circle and took Miles 
firmly by the arm. 

“Let me pass !” he said to those about him. “This gentle- 
man is my friend.” 

Miles yielded passively, and no one made any effort to de- 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


319 


tain him. The group fell back on either side, as they would 
have done from people infected with disease, and Arnold 
guided the wavering Miles across the ball-room. The floor 
was empty, and Nora felt she must sink beneath the hun- 
dreds of eyes that watched them. Yet she carried herself 
haughtily, and the one thought that flashed clearly through 
her mind, as the great glass doors swung behind her, was 
that she was free — that, come what would, she could never 
see those people again. The last possibility of her existence 
amongst them was destroyed. Further than that she refused 
to think. 

The drive home was an absolutely silent one. Miles, yield- 
ing to the influence of champagne and the late excitement, 
fell into a disturbed doze, from which Arnold and Nora made 
no attempt to arouse him. They sat opposite each other in 
the half-light, avoiding each other’s eyes. 

Thus they reached the gloomy little house which was 
Nora’s home. 

“I had better help him upstairs,” Arnold said quietly. 
“We must make as little fuss as possible.” 

Nora consented with a brief inclination of the head. She 
was past all struggle against circumstances. Between them 
they succeeded in piloting Miles up the endless flights. He 
seemed quite unconscious of his state, and talked loudly and 
incessantly, so that all hope of bringing him to his room un- 
observed was doomed as vain. Nevertheless, stunned and in- 
different as she was, Nora started back involuntarily as Wolff 
met them in the passage. He carried a candle in his hand, 
and the light reflected on his pale, exhausted face fell also 
on Miles, and revealed enough of the truth. He glanced 
away at Nora, and from Nora to Arnold. His expression 
betrayed no feeling, but she felt that he was trying to read 
into the very depths of their souls. 


320 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Please come in here,” he said quietly. 

He led the way into the drawing-room and switched on 
the light, and they followed him without protest. 

“Tell me what happened,” he commanded. 

Arnold made a movement as though he would have spoken, 
but Wolff stopped him with courteous but decided gesture. 

“I wish Miles to tell me — if he can,” he said. 

Miles lifted his hanging head. A silly self-satisfaction 
twisted his unsteady lips. 

“I can tell you right enough,” he said, “only I’ll sit down, 
if you don’t mind, I feel so infernally shaky. It was Bauer, 
you know. I was having my supper when I heard him and 
another fellow talking, and though I’m not good at the jar- 
gon I caught the drift of what he was saying. It was 
about a woman. He said if he were her husband he would 
make an end of such a dirty scandal, and put a bullet through 
some one or other’s head. You can fancy that I pricked up 
my ears, and I turned and saw that he was pointing at Nora 
and Arnold. That was too much for me. I got up and 
asked what he meant. He told me — and I swear it wasn’t 
nice. He said — ” 

Wolff lifted his hand. 

“I don’t want to hear that,” he said. “Go on.” 

“Well, I knocked him down, and there was the devil of a 
row !” Miles laughed unsteadily. “The silly fools wanted 
me to fight a duel over it !” he added. 

“And you — ?” 

“I told them I wasn’t going to make such a damned idiot 
of myself.” 

Wolff said nothing for a moment. His whole face had 
stiffened, and he was looking at Miles from head to foot. 

“And after that they called you a coward?” he asked, at 
last. 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


321 


“Some rot like that — ” 

“And they were right. You are a coward — the vilest, most 
pitiful coward I have ever met.” 

“Wolff!” 

It was Nora who had cried out. The insult had fallen on 
her brother and herself alike, and her voice shook with pas- 
sionate indignation. 

Her husband turned to her. 

“The man who is not ready to risk his life for his sister’s 
honor is a coward,” he asserted deliberately. 

A gesture of protest escaped Arnold, who had hitherto 
remained silent and motionless. 

“You forget,” he said. “In England we do not duel — it 
is not our custom.” 

“No; you go to law and take money for your injured 
honor,” was the coldly scornful answer. “That is the re- 
venge of shopkeepers — not of gentlemen.” 

The two men measured each other in painful electric 
silence, and as they stood there face to face, the contrast 
between them marked them as two great types of two great 
races. The thin, loosely built Englishman, with the long, 
gaunt features, confronted the German, whose broad shoul- 
ders and massive head seemed to make him taller than his 
opponent. Perhaps some vague notion of the conflict which 
they represented dawned in Nora’s mind. She looked from 
one to the other, terrified of the forces behind the masks of 
stern self-repression, and instinctively weighing them in a 
mental balance. For the first time in their married life she 
was afraid of her husband. It seemed to her that his height 
and breadth had increased in the last moments; there was 
something gigantic in the stature, and something bulldog, 
tenacious, and yet keenly alive, powerfully intellectual in 
the face, with its square chin and massive forehead. Com- 


322 


DIVIDING WATERS 


pared with him, Arnold, tall and wiry though he was in real- 
ity, appeared enfeebled, almost fragile. If the two men had 
fallen upon each other in that moment — the very possibility 
sickened Nora’s heart with fear. She had seen Arnold’s 
hands clench themselves as Wolff’s scornful criticism had 
been uttered, and involuntarily she had taken a quick step 
forward as though to fling herself between them. But there 
was no need for interference. Both men possessed admirable 
self-control, and in that moment at least they respected each 
other. 

“We have our own opinions on these matters,” Arnold 
said. “You have yours. Mr. Ingestre is an Englishman, 
and does not need to conform to your customs. He gave his 
opponent the lie, and has done all that he need do.” 

“So you have said,” Wolff returned calmly. “In my eyes, 
and in the eyes of my world, there is still much to be done. 
But that — as the one German here — concerns me alone.” He 
turned to Miles, who was still seated, his face in his hands, 
apparently dozing. “Go to your room!” he commanded 
peremptorily. The tone of almost brutal authority acted 
like a goad on Nora’s tortured nerves. 

“You speak to my brother as though he were a dog !” she 
burst out. 

Wolff did not answer her. 

“Go to your room !” he repeated. 

Miles staggered to his feet and tottered across to the door. 
He seemed to be obeying the hypnotizing power of Wolff’s 
voice, for his movements were those of a sleep-walker. 

“Good night, every one!” he mumbled. “Good night!” 

No one responded. The two men again faced each other. 

“I am grateful to you for the assistance you rendered my 
wife,” Wolf said. “We shall scarcely meet again.” 

“Not here, at any rate,” was the significant answer. 


THE CODE OF HONOR 


323 


r A curt salute, and Arnold turned away. He gave Nora 
his hand. 

“Good-bye — and God bless you!” he said. 

Her lips moved soundlessly. For an instant it seemed 
almost as though she clung to him. Then her hand fell 
listlessly to her side, and the next minute he, too, had gone. 

Husband and wife did not speak. Nora seated herself 
at the table and buried her face in her arms. She cried 
without restraint, not' loudly, but with low, monotonous, 
terrible sobs. 

Her husband crossed to the door of his room. He stood 
there a moment, his head bowed, listening. It was as though 
he were receiving some final message from those sounds of 
piteous self-abandonment. But he did not look at' Nora. 
Fie went out, and the soft click of the lock pierced through 
her grief, so that she started upright. 

She saw that the door was closed, and that she was alone. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE SEA BETWEEN 



O reach Wolff’s study it was necessary to pass through 


X the drawing-room. On his way, therefore, Captain 
von Seleneck encountered Nora, who was seated at her table 
writing. He bowed, she answered with a slight inclination 
of the head and he passed on, as a total stranger might have 
done, into the inner sanctuary. 

He found Wolff at work on some nearly finished plans. 
He was standing over them, and with a compass measuring 
distances with a careful, painstaking exactitude, and his 
face, as he looked up, though haggard almost beyond belief, 
was absolutely determined, without trace of weakness. 

The two men shook hands and Wolff went on working. 

“It was good of you to come, Kurt,” he said. “I know 
you must be overburdened with duty just now.” 

“One has always time for a comrade, and especially for 
you,” was the answer; “and whether you had sent for me 
or not, I should have come — like a bird of ill-omen. I felt 
I owed it to you as your friend, and you would rather have 
it from me than from another man. It seems, though, you 
know all about last night?” 

“Quite enough.” 

“It was a wretched affair,” Seleneck said, placing his 
helmet on the table. “I got it from an eye-witness. Of 
course, your precious brother-in-law had had too much to 
drink. That was inevitable, and might have been hushed 
up. But then came the row with Bauer. It was obvious 


324 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


325 


that Bauer was on the lookout for mischief, and I should 
like to give Mr. Ingestre the credit for knocking him down 
as a return for what he said about your wife. Unfortunately, 
the real subject of dispute was — money.” 

Wolff nodded. 

“How did you hear of it?” he asked. 

“Ebberstein came straight to me. It was rather decent 
of him. He knew, of course, that I was your friend, and 
the best person to tell you what had happened. It was 
obvious that you had to be told. You see — it was not only 
your brother-in-law. Your — wife’s name and — and honor 
were dragged in.” 

Wolff’s lips tightened. 

“I know,” he said. “Go on!” 

“Well, we talked it over, and I promised to come round 
to you directly I was free. When I got back this morning 
I found your letter waiting for me, and here I am!” He 
laid his hand with an affectionate movement on his com- 
rade’s shoulder. “Whatever it is — I’m your man,” he said. 

“I know, alter Junge. You have always stuck to me. You 
were the one man in all Berlin to whom I felt I could turn 
with real confidence. By the way, I suppose I may leave 
the arrangement of things in your hands?” 

“I shall be proud to act for you, Wolff. To all intents 
and purposes everything is settled. Ebberstein and I talked 
it over last night. In the almost certain event of your 
challenging, we decided that a court of honor should sit 
this evening in my house and that the meeting should take 
place at the latest to-morrow morning. It is impossible to 
know when we shall have marching orders, so there must be 
no delay. If you wish it, I shall proceed at once to Bauer 
and find out whom he intends to appoint as seconds. The 
rest of the formalities you can safely entrust to me.” 


326 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Thank you. When is the court of honor appointed to 
sit?” 

“If it can be managed, at six o’clock. The circumstances 
are simple enough, so that the conditions should be very 
quickly settled. You, of course, are the challenging party, 
and the matter will come under the head of ‘schwere Be - 
leidigung / so that ten paces will be about the outcome. Are 
you good at that distance?” 

“Pretty well.” 

“Ebberstein says your man is a first-class shot. Es heisst 
aufpassen, Wolff !” 

Arnim made no answer and his companion took up his 
helmet. 

“I shall come round to you this evening as soon as the 
court’s decision has been given,” he said. 

Wolff looked up quickly. 

“If you don’t mind, I would prefer to come to you,” he 
said. “And if I might, I will stay the night at your house. 
It would be better. I do not want my wife to know any- 
thing of what is to happen.” 

“But — M enschenkind ! She must know !” 

“She suspects nothing. You forget — she is not one of us. 
She does not understand.” 

Seleneck stared thoughtfully in front of him, pulling his 
mustache as though a prey to some painful uneasiness. 

“Of course I hope the very best for you, Wolff,” he said, 
at last, “but you are a big man, and unlucky accidents 
happen. It would be pretty hard on your wife if she knew 
nothing and — ” 

“It would be a shock,” interrupted Wolff quietly. “I 
know that. Believe me, though, what I have arranged is 
for the best. She would not understand.” 

Seleneck asked none of the questions that were burning 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


327 


the tip of his tongue. A natural delicacy, above all, hi? 
comrade’s face, held him silent, and it was Wolff who con- 
tinued after a moment: 

“In the event of what you call an ‘unlucky accident’ my 
wife will, of course, return to her own country. Her brother 
is starting for England to-morrow, so that she will be able 
to accompany him. But in any case — whether I fall or not 
— I beg of you to do your utmost to shield her from all 
trouble — and scandal. She is innocent — absolutely innocent. 
I know — you can not hide it from me — that you and all the 
rest blame her. She is not to be blamed because she married 
a man not of her own people. She is to be profoundly pitied. 
That is all, and it explains everything.” 

“You talk as though you were certain of the worst,” Sele- 
neck said. “But if everything goes well — what then?” 

The compass slipped from Wolff’s fingers. 

“God knows!” he said. 

It was no exclamation of despair, rather a reverent sur- 
render of a life which he could no longer shape alone, and 
Seleneck turned aside, more deeply moved than he cared 
to show. He had known Wolff from the earliest Kadetten 
days, and had watched the dawn of great promise break 
into a day of seeming fulfillment. With unchanging, un- 
envying friendship he had followed the brilliant career, ad- 
miring the boy’s ambition ripening to steadfast purpose, the 
boyish spirits steadying to a bold and fearless optimism. And, 
after all, he ended as others ended — in shipwreck — only 
more tragically, with the port of Victory in sight. Seleneck 
remembered his own words spoken only a few months before : 
“Take care that you do not end as Field Marshal with Disap- 
pointment for adjutant !” And Wolff was not even major, 
and something worse than Disappointment, something more 
like Catastrophe, had already chosen him as comrade. 


328 


DIVIDING WATERS 


Against Wolff’s wish, Seleneck blamed Nora bitterly. He 
held her responsible for every shadow that had fallen upon 
the hopeful life, but he swore to himself that she should 
not know it, and that he would prove her friend for her 
husband’s sake, whatever befell. 

“My will is, of course, made,” Wolff said, breaking upon 
his troubled reflections, “and here is a letter to my aunt' and 
Hildegarde ; please give it to them in the event of my death.” 

“And for your wife?” 

“This other letter is for her.” 

Seleneck took the two envelopes and put them in his 
pocket. 

“I think everything is settled now?” he said. 

“Everything. I shall work at these plans as long as pos- 
sible, and if I get them finished I shall take them- to Colonel 
von Beck before I come to you. If not, I shall leave them 
locked in here and bring you the key. If anything happens 
to me, you will know where to find them. They are of some 
importance, and I would be grateful if you would see to it 
that they are taken at once to headquarters.” 

“Pray Heaven you may be able to take them yourself!” 
Seleneck returned earnestly. 

Wolff made no answer, but he straightened his shoulders 
and held out a steady hand. 

“In any case, thank you for your friendship, Kurt,” he 
said. “It has been the best — no, almost the best thing in 
my life.” 

That loyal correction touched the elder man profoundly, 
and for the first time a faint trace of emotion relaxed Wolff’s 
set features. 

“Do not let my wife suspect that anything serious has 
passed between us,” he added. “She suffers enough.” 

The two men embraced, and Seleneck went out of the 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


329 


room with his brows knitted in bitter, painful lines. He did 
not wish to see Wolff’s wife, much less speak with her, but 
she was still seated by the table, and as he entered she rose 
as though she had been waiting for him. She did not - offer 
him her hand, and in spite of all his resolutions he felt that 
the enmity and distrust were in his eyes as he waited for her 
to speak. 

“Has anything happened?” she asked breathlessly. 

If he could have forgotten his friend’s face, he might have 
pitied her in that moment. Only a few months had passed 
since he had welcomed the girlish bride on the Karlsburg 
platform, and now all the girlhood had gone. She looked 
old as she stood there — pitiably old, because the age lay 
only in the expression, which was bitter, miserable and 
reckless. 

“What should have happened, gnadige Frau?” Seleneck 
answered, parrying her question with an indifference which 
concealed a very real anxiety. He could not free himself 
from the conviction that she knew. He could not imagine 
if possible that she was ignorant of the consequences of the 
last night’s catastrophe. 

“You know very well what I mean!” Nora said roughly. 
“I ask you because you must know. Will there be war?” 

Seleneck nearly laughed. So much for his sharp-sighted- 
ness ! She had not been thinking of her husband, but of her- 
self; or was perhaps the fear written on her face, fear for 
his safety? He did not believe it. He was too bitter against 
her to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

“I know no more than you know, gnadige Frau” he said. 
“Our ultimatum has been sent to England. The next 
twenty-four hours must decide.” 

“But surely you have an idea — surely you can guess?” 

e{ Gnadige Frau , we soldiers are not politicians. We are 


330 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ready to march when the order is given. That is the only 
point with which we are concerned.” 

He waited an instant, and then, as she did not answer, 
he clapped his spurred heels together and went. 

Nora crept back to her place at the table. Her move- 
ments were like those of a woman who has struggled up 
from a severe illness, and as she sat there with the pen in 
her listless hand she asked herself if this feeling of deadly 
physical inertia were not indeed the forerunner of the definite 
breakdown of her whole strength. Alone her thoughts 
seemed alive, to be indued with an agonizing vitality which 
left her no peace or rest. They had followed her through 
the short night hours of sleep, and they pursued her now till 
she could have cried out with pain and despair. They were 
not thoughts that helped her, or sought a way for her out of 
the problem of her life. They were of the kind that haunt 
the fevered mind in dreams, pictures of the past' and of the 
future that slipped across her mental vision in kaleidoscopic 
confusion, only to return again and again with hideous per- 
sistency. She could not control them; she sat there and 
yielded herself listless to their torture, leaving to fate 
the whole guidance of the future. She had no plans of her 
own. Once it had occurred to her to write to her mother, 
but she had not traced more than the first few lines before 
the pen fell from her hand. Pride, rather than love, held 
her back from the bitter confession of her wretchedness. 
The thought of her father’s triumph and her mother’s grief 
had been sufficient to turn her away from the one path which 
still remained open to her. 

Thus her thoughts continued their round, and the winter 
dusk deepened to evening. The servant had forgotten to 
attend to the stove, and a bitter penetrating cold ate into her 
very heart. She cared too little to move. She sat with her 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


331 


chin resting on her hand and watched the snow that was 
beginning to fall in the quiet street. Winter — in a few days 
Christmas! The thoughts took a swift turn. A year ago 
she had been at home, fighting with the courage of her youth 
for what she deemed her happiness. A year ago she had 
slept — foolish child ! — with Wolff’s last letter beneath her 
pillow and sworn to it that, come what might, she would 
trample on home and people and country, and follow him 
whithersoever he would lead her. “Thy people shall be my 
people, thy God my God !” A year ago — no more than that ! 
And now she sat alone, and the door was locked between 
them. 

She listened intently, and again her thoughts changed 
their course. What was he doing? Was he, too, sitting 
alone, as she sat, with his face between his hands, gazing into 
the ruin of his life’s happiness? A wave of pity, even of 
tenderness, passed like a thawing breath over her frozen 
misery. Could she not go to him and put her arms about 
his shoulders, and plead with him, “Let all be good between 
us! Take me away from here to the other end of the earth 
and let us forget ! I can not bear to suffer thus, nor to see 
you suffer !” Surely it was not too late. 

Urged by a hope born of her despair, she rose quickly 
and went to his door. She heard him move; there was a 
sound of papers being turned over, the clatter of keys, a 
short sigh of satisfaction, and then slow steps approaching 
from the other side. Her hand, raised in the act of knocking, 
fell paralyzed. The next instant' she w r as back at her table 
writing — what and to whom she never knew. But she was 
laughing to herself — that piteous heart-rending laughter of 
those who find in themselves the butt for the bitterest 
mockery. He had been working. Not for an instant had he 
been thrown out of his course by the storm which was threat- 


332 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ening her with total shipwreck. He had gone on with his 
plans, his maps, his calculations as though nothing had hap- 
pened, as though she were no more than an episode in his 
life. He did not care for her suffering — or what was worse, 
he did not know, so complete was the severance of their 
union. 

A year ago ! It might have been ten years, ten ages. The 
moment when he had held her in his arms for the first time 
might have been a dream and this the reality, grim, cold, 
and intolerable. She heard the key turn in the lock, the 
creak of the door as it opened. She heard Wolff’s heavy 
step on the parquette, and then once more the closing of the 
door and the noise of the key turned twice and withdrawn. 
Then silence. She went on writing — words that had no 
meaning. Her pulses were at the gallop with suspense, fear 
and an emotion which she did not stop to analyze. They 
had not met since the night before. What would he say 
to her — or she to him? 

“How cold it is !” he said quietly. “The fire has gone 
out. You must be freezing!” 

She did not lift her head for a moment, so startled was 
she by the perfect equanimity of his words and tone. And 
yet it was what she might have expected. It was all in 
perfect harmony with his whole character, with his whole 
conduct. He had seen the last link between them break and 
had gone back to his room and worked steadily throughout 
the night, and now he came and talked to her — about the 
fire! 

“Johann is out,” he went on, “but I dare say I can 
manage.” 

She turned then, and looked at him. He was kneeling by 
the stove trying to rekindle the dying embers with some 
sticks he had found in the coal-scuttle. He had changed his 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


333 


clothes for his full uniform, and the helmet with the plume 
lay at his side on the floor, together with the sword and white 
kid gloves. A bitter, sarcastic smile relaxed Nora’s set lips. 
She wondered that it had never struck her before how prosaic, 
almost plebeian he was. The splendid clothes had, after all, 
only been the gilt covering to a piece of machinery working 
in blind accordance with thousands of others in its one great 
task — a dull, brute thing, for whom the finer emotions were 
a sealed book. She saw him in a new light as he knelt there, 
his shadow thrown up against the wall by the rekindling 
fire. She felt as though he were a total stranger against 
whom she felt an increasing antagonism. 

Presently he rose, dusting his hands on his handkerchief. 

“I think it will do now,” he said. “Do you want the 
light? You can’t possibly see.” 

“I would rather be as I am,” she answered coldly. 

She covered her face with her hand and appeared to forget 
his presence. But in a rapid, inexplicable revulsion of feel- 
ing, the first fear and suspense returned, and though she did 
not see him she followed his every movement, her ears trans- 
lating every sound with the precision of a second-sight. She 
heard him pick up sword and helmet, then the soft, familiar 
click of his spurs as he crossed the room to the farther door. 
Then the sound stopped, and she knew that he was looking 
at her. The silence seemed to last an eternity. It suffo- 
cated her; she felt that if it lasted another instant she must 
scream out, so frightful was the strain, and yet, when as 
though obeying an irresistible behest he came back upon his 
steps and put his hand upon her shoulder, she prayed for that 
silence to come back, anything rather than that he should 
speak to her. 

“Gott segne dich und behilte dich, meine Frau!” he said, 
and bent and kissed her hand. 


334 


DIVIDING WATERS 


That was all. The next minute the loud clang of the outer 
door told her that he had gone. 

For a long time she sat as though paralyzed, listening to 
the words as they echoed through her memory. He had 
spoken in German — as he never did save in moments of deep 
feeling — and there had been something in his voice which 
she had never heard before. She sprang to her feet. The 
earlier lassitude and indifference were over, she felt as though 
every nerve in her body had been drawn taut by some 
nameless, indefinable fear. 

“Wolff!” she cried. “Wolff!” 

She knew that he was out of hearing. She knew that if 
he stood before her in that moment she would turn from him 
with the same coldness, the same anger. Yet she called for 
him despairingly, and when she put her hand to her face 
she found that it was wet with tears. 

“Wolff!” she repeated. “Wolff!” 

The answering silence appalled her. She ran out' into 
the passage to Miles’ door and knocked urgently. She did 
not know what she wanted of him. She only knew that she 
could not bear to be alone. 

After what seemed a moment’s hesitation the bolt was 
drawn, and Miles’ flushed face appeared in the aperture. He 
looked curiously relieved when he saw who his visitor was. 

“What is it?” he demanded curtly. “I am busy packing.” 

His tone gave her back her self-possession — or the ap- 
pearance of self-possession. 

“I only wanted to know if you were at home,” she said. 
“I — am going out for a little.” 

The idea had come to her as she spoke. The confusion 
and noise of the streets seemed to offer to her the sole anti- 
dote for the feverish restlessness which had come over her. 

Miles nodded. 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


335 


‘‘All right. Where — where is Wolff?” 

The light was behind him, and she could not see his face. 
Nevertheless she felt that the expression in his eyes was 
tense, excited, that he was studying her as though on her 
answer depended more than she guessed. 

“He has just gone out.” 

“Thanks. How long will you be?” 

“I don’t know. I am only going to get fresh air.” 

“You might go towards the Kriegsministerium,” Miles 
suggested carelessly. “You might hear if there is any an- 
swer came from home. War may be declared at' any 
minute.” 

Nora made no answer. His words had set her heart beat- 
ing with pain, and the pain increased as five minutes later 
she found herself being swept along in the stream of the 
crowd. Everything was very quiet. It seemed to her that 
not one of those with whom she was borne forward spoke. 
A silence, ominous as the hush before the storm, weighed 
upon all, and only the faces coming and going out of the 
circles of lamp-light revealed the forces of passion which 
were awaiting the hour when they should be set free. After 
the first moment, Nora ceased to notice all this. She was 
winged with a panting, rapidly increasing anxiety which 
obliterated everything — even to her own personality. She 
forgot Wolff, she forgot herself and the conflict before her ; 
she had become an atom in one mighty community with 
whose existence her own was irrevocably bound. She was 
no longer Wolff’s wife, she was not even Nora Ingestre; 
she was English, and, as though from far away a voice called 
her by some all-powerful incantation, she forced her way 
forward. War ! Her heart exulted. War ! Her excited 
imagination transported her to the center of another and a 
greater city; she felt closed in on every side by a people 


336 


DIVIDING WATERS 


whose blood was hers ; she heard their voices, a magic stream 
of sympathy poured from them to her ; she heard the tramp 
of a thousand feet, the clash of martial music, the roar of 
cheering, and in the brilliant light bayonets flashed like a 
moving ribbon of silver. War ! And if War — why then, 
Victory, her country’s final, grandest triumph ! 

The dream vanished — nay, became a reality with another 
meaning, which for a moment she could not comprehend. 
The crowd about her swayed, hesitated, and eddied like a 
stream that has been checked by some unexpected force. A 
low murmur rose like the first breath of the hurricane. 

“What is it?” Nora asked. “What has happened?” 

She forgot where she was. She spoke in English, and 
the man next her answered as though he understood, as 
though he had not even noticed that she had addressed him 
in a foreign language. His young face was crimson with 
exultation. 

“They say there is to be war!” he answered hoarsely. 
“They say there is to be war !” 

And then she understood, then the reality of it bore down 
upon her with the crushing weight of a horrible revelation. 
She tried to force a passage for herself out of this crowd of 
enemies, but like a straw in the swirl of a whirlpool she was 
swept back. And in that moment of helplessness the hatred 
which had lain smoldering burst into full flame in Nora’s 
heart. Reckless and defiant, she fought against the seething 
mass of humanity, and for her the struggle was a real thing. 
She pitted herself against them all; alone amongst those 
thousands, she felt herself indued with superhuman strength 
and courage. In her exultation she could have cried aloud : 
“You fools, you poor fools, who dare to rise against us — us, 
the elect of God among the nations !” 

It was a moment prescient of victory, unshadowed by a 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


337 


single doubt or fear. A moment ! Then the murmur burst 
into a great shout, the crowd broke asunder, and to the rattle 
of drums, the shrill voice of the pipes, a regiment of infantry 
passed through, the thunder of their march sounding like 
some mighty accompaniment to the high notes of the war- 
like music. No confusion, no hurry, the officers at the 
head of their companies, grave, resolute, filled with the con- 
sciousness of their great calling; the men silent, their eyes 
fixed ahead as though the enemy lay straight before them, 
awaiting the final struggle. What it was Nora could not, 
in that moment of conflicting emotion, clearly analyze. 
Something had fallen like an icy hand upon her courage. 
Those faces that passed so close to her through the driving 
snow, column after column, those healthy, weather-beaten 
faces so full of life and strength, those broad-shouldered 
figures, erect, sturdy, swinging forward as though one soul, 
one mind governed each and all alike — they had made her 
afraid. She felt herself flung back by a huge pitiless Jug- 
gernaut, before which her strength broke like a frail reed. 
She turned away, sick and trembling, and as she did so 
her eyes fell on the man who had retained his place at her 
side. 

“Ach, du lieber Gott!” he said, as though she had spoken 
to him. “That was my regiment — the one hundred and fif- 
teenth. Perhaps I shall be called in — I also have been a 
soldier.” 

She looked at him and she understood. He, too, was 
Soldat, he, too, could carry his gun and take his place with 
the best, he, too, had been taught to bear his share worthily 
in the highest of all human callings — one saw the pride of it 
in his face. And he was not alone. He was typical of all, 
of a whole nation in arms. 

A sort of panic seized her. She turned and fled, thrusting 


338 


DIVIDING WATERS 


her way through the thinning crowd with the strength of 
despair. Only one thought possessed her — to get away, to 
escape from a farce which she had learned to fear. Panting, 
disordered, scarcely knowing what she did or meant to do, 
she reached her home at last. Silence greeted her — silence 
and an absolute darkness. She entered the drawing-room 
and turned on the light. No one. Her husband’s door, 
locked when she had gone out, stood wide open. 

“Wolff !” she cried. Her voice shook. She called again, 
and then her brother’s name, but the silence remained un- 
broken. She looked about her, and her eyes chanced to rest 
an instant on her table; she saw that a letter was lying on 
the blotting-case, which had not been there before. She 
ran and picked it up. It was addressed to her in Miles’ 
handwriting. 

“Johann has just run in to look for Wolff,” he scrawled. 
“She says war is declared, and I’m off. There is a train 
leaving at eight, and I have no time to lose. Sorry I can’t 
say good-by, old girl. I wish you could come, but I suppose 
you can’t. We’ll come and fetch you though, never fear !” 

A cry broke from Nora’s trembling lips. He had gone — 
he had left her. He had the right to go ! And she was 
alone. She looked at the clock ticking peacefully on the 
mantelpiece. She had no clear plan, but she saw that it 
was half-past seven, and she reckoned that the Potsdamer 
Bahnhof could not be more than twenty minutes away. If 
she could get a cab there would be time. For what? She 
did not know. She was still panic-stricken. The silence 
oppressed her with a greater horror than the roaring of the 
crowd. The little room, with its cheap, ugly ornaments, 
had become absolutely unfamiliar to her. She felt that it 
was impossible she could ever have lived here, she felt that 
she had wandered into a stranger’s house, and that he might 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


339 


come back any minute and find her. She ran to the door. 
N o bond, no link of memory or past happiness held her back. 
Not even the gray Litewka hanging in the hall, with its 
silent reminder, could change the headlong course of her 
resolution. She saw it, she even stopped to look at it. It 
spoke to her of a man she had known long ago, who had 
gone out of her life and was no more than the memory of 
a dream. Because it had 'been a beautiful dream she bent 
and kissed the empty sleeve, but she did not hesitate, and 
her eyes were tearless. Stronger than that memory was the 
craving for home and the fear of the stranger who would 
return and find her. Thus she fled, and the door of the little 
flat closed with a melancholy clang. It was empty now — 
when the stranger came there would be no one there to 
trouble his peace. She felt neither remorse nor pity. All 
that had been love for her husband had turned to bitterness. 
He had come between her and those dear to her; he had 
insulted her and her whole nation ; he had trampled on her 
pride; he had deserted her, leaving her to fight her battle 
alone, whilst he had followed his ambition behind locked 
doors, which even she could not open. As she drove rapidly 
through the streets he stood before her mental vision, not as 
the lover or the husband, but as the man who had faced her 
on the preceding night, stern, resolute, pitiless, sweeping her 
from his path as he would have done a valueless toy. He 
had had no thought for her sufferings, he had not even tried 
to comfort her, but had gone to his room and — worked. And 
between this man of iron and routine and the immense im- 
placable force which had revealed itself to her in the crowd, 
there was a resemblance, nay, an affinity of mind and pur- 
pose. Both threatened her home, her people, and her life. 
She hated both. 

Twenty minuter-later she stood in the crowded railway 


340 


DIVIDING WATERS 


station. Miles was nowhere to be seen. There were only 
three minutes left before the train started, and she had not 
money enough in her purse to take her even to the coast. 
Tears of helpless wretchedness rushed to her eyes. She must 
go — she must escape. She could never return to the silent', 
dreary home, to the man who had become a hated stranger. 

On every side she heard the same words, “Der Krieg! 
Der Krieg!” They terrified her,- exasperated her. A little 
crowd of English people, who were hurrying to the train, 
arrested her attention. 

“We should have left before,” one of them said. “All 
the places will be taken.” 

In her despair she could have flung herself upon their 
mercy, but the crowd jostled her on one side, and they were 
lost to sight. 

“A lies einst eigen! A lies einst eigen!” 

It was then she saw Miles; just for one instant she saw 
his face. It stood out clearly in the blur — white, aghast, 
full of a terrified recognition, and then, as she held out her 
hands, too thankful to think what it all meant, it disap- 
peared. 

She stood there, stupefied, rooted to the ground. He had 
deserted her — he had been afraid of her. Why? What had 
happened ? 

A lies einst eigen! Alles einst eigen! 

A sob broke from Nora’s lips, and even in that moment, 
in which all hope seemed lost, Arnold stood at her side. She 
clung to him recklessly, like a child who has been pursued 
by the phantom of some hideous nightmare. 

“Oh, take me with you, Robert!” she cried. “Don’t leave 
me !” 

He looked down at her, then, without speaking, he lifted 
her into the already moving train and sprang in after her. 


THE SEA BETWEEN 


341 


“There is nothing to be afraid of, little Nora,” he said 
tenderly. “I will bring you home safe and sound.” 

The word “home” swept aside the last barricades of her 
self-control. She flung herself into his arms weeping wildly 
and thankfully. 


As the dawn broke, Nora stood at the prow of the vessel 
that was bearing her homeward, and welcomed the white 
bulwarks of England as they rose in majestic sovereignty 
out of the morning mists. Her eyes filled. She could have 
stretched out her arms in her pride and joy, and the whole 
world that she had left behind had vanished like some de- 
lirious dream. 

Miles away, in a quiet field on the outskirts of Berlin, two 
men faced each other at ten paces’ distance, and awaited 
the signal. It was given, and two puffs of smoke issued from 
| the outstretched weapons, and curled slowly upward into 
the frosty air. One of the men reeled and fell, and lay quiet, 
with his face in the grass. 

They picked him up tenderly, and as they bore him thence 
his fading eyes opened. 

“Do — not frighten her,” he whispered. “Don’t let her 
think that it is anything — serious — ” 

In the same instant, Nora had turned joyously to the man 
at her side. 

“Oh, thank God !” she cried. “Thank God, I am home 
at last !” 

Thus she returned to her own country and her own people, 
and a sea rolled between her and all that had been. 


End of Book II 




n 


I 



BOOK III 





















CHAPTER I 


HOME 

M RS. INGESTRE’S bed had been drawn to the win- 
dow, so that she could look out on the drear land- 
scape of snow-covered fields and catch the few rays of sun- 
shine that here and there broke through the gray monotony 
of sky. It was her last stand against the shadow which was 
soon to blot out the whole world for ever from her eyes. 
There she had lain day after day, and with her imagination 
brightened the bleak outlook with the summer sunshine and 
the green trees which she was to see no more. There she 
had written cheery, hopeful letters to her daughter and 
had received cheery, hopeful letters in return. There mother 
and daughter, clasped in each other’s arms, acknowledged 
that the letters had been no more than merciful lies, that 
the hope they had expressed had been disguised despair. 

“How blind I must have been!” Mrs. Ingestre thought, 
as Nora, kneeling at her bedside, poured out the story of 
her short married happiness. “How blind not to have seen 
and understood !” 

“How heartless, how self-absorbed I was not to have 
known!” Nora reproached herself, as she looked into the 
well-loved face on which death had set' his unmistakable 
seal. 

But it was not of death which they spoke. It was as 
though the elder woman’s life was already closed, as though 
she already stood afar off and saw the world and life with 

345 


346 


DIVIDING WATERS 


other and clearer eyes. There was no regret or fear in her 
attitude toward the unknown future, and that calm, high 
confidence inspired Nora with a curious awe which hushed 
all tears and passionate grief. She looked up to her mother 
as to a being high above all earthly sorrow, yet linked to the 
world by an infinite, all-comprehending pity. That pity 
was Nora’s one refuge. The wild delight which had borne 
her up through that long night journey had died almost in 
the same hour that her father had clasped her in his arms 
and killed the fatted calf in honor of the long-despaired-of 
prodigal. Something like an icy disappointment had crept 
into her aching heart as she had awakened the first morning 
in her girlhood’s room and realized that this was her home, 
the home she had longed and prayed for, in which she had 
chosen to pass her life. She had laughed scorn at herself 
and had greeted the hideous church-spire which peered over 
the leafless trees with a seeming new-born affection, and to 
her father and brother she maintained that same seeming 
of delight and thankfulness. Before her mother she had 
broken down for a moment, and the stormy sobs which had 
shaken her had not wholly been the expression of a pent-up 
longing. She had recovered herself almost at once, the 
grave, clear eyes of the dying woman warning her, perhaps, 
that her secret was no longer entirely hidden, and now she 
knelt and told her story as she would have told it twenty- 
four hours before, with bitterness, resentment, and self-pity. 

“It was all a dreadful mistake, mother,” she said. “I 
believed I loved him enough to forget whom and what I 
was, but I could not. Every hour showed me that I was a 
stranger, and would always remain a stranger. I could not 
grow to love his people, and they hated me. You don’t 
know how they hated me. When trouble began and there 
came the first rumor of war, they did not let a chance pass 


HOME 


347 


to hurt me. There were moments when I felt I could bear 
it no longer, but I held out until that night. Then— when 
I was in that crowd, and heard them cheering, and knew 
that it was against me — against us — I knew that I could 
never go back, that the strain of pretending or trying to 
pretend would send me mad. And oh, I longed so for my 
home and for you all ! It was just as though I were in some 
frightful exile among enemies — ” 

“So you escaped,” Mrs. Ingestre interrupted gently. “It 
was natural, and yet — ” 

Nora looked into her mother’s face, and wondered at 
the depth of pity which the low voice had betrayed. 

“And yet — ?” she asked. 

“I was thinking of Wolff,” Mrs. Ingestre said. “He must 
have suffered terribly.” 

“Wolff!” The name burst almost angrily from Nora’s 
lips. “How should he have suffered? Men of his stamp 
do not suffer. They have no room in their lives for such a 
feeling. Do you know — after that ball, when he had prac- 
tically thrown Miles out of the house, when he knew that 
I was miserable, broken-hearted, he left me without a word, 
and worked with his door locked between us. He cared 
nothing — nothing — only for his ambition and himself. They 
are all like that, and their wives are just their servants, who 
must be satisfied with whatever is left over for them. I 
could not stand it. It was like living with some piece of 
machinery — ” 

“Nora, he is your husband, and you loved him!” 

Nora sprang to her feet. The reproach had stung her, 
the more so because at the bottom she knew that her indig- 
nation was feigned. The panic and delirium of that night 
was over, and left her terribly calm, terribly cold, terribly 
clear as to what she had done. 


348 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I did love him,” she said — “or at least I thought I did. 
It is all the same thing. I was carried off my feet by the 
strangeness and newness of it all. How should I have 
known then what it meant to leave one’s country and one’s 
people? Leave them! If that had been all! But to go 
against them, to have to forget that one had ever loved 
them!” 

She was trying to rouse herself to those feelings which 
had been the cause of all her past misery and whose crisis 
had brought about the final desperate action. She was try- 
ing to rouse in her mother sympathy for those feelings,' and 
it goaded her to know that both efforts failed. Mrs. Ingestre 
was gazing out of the window, and her pale face was still 
grave and pitiful. 

“You see things with your own eyes, my Nora,” she said, 
with a faint, wistful smile. “I see them from a long way 
off, and with eyes that suffering has cleared from all pre- 
judice and hatred. And then — I was very fond of Wolff.” 

Nora turned away, her small hands clenched. 

“That — that means I have done wrong?” she said almost 
fiercely. 

“Have I blamed you?” 

“No, but—” 

“I can have pity for both, Nora. I can see that you had 
much to bear — perhaps more than was tolerable for one so 
young and headstrong. But I can see Wolff’s side too. It 
can see him come home that night and find you gone — ” 

She stopped as though her imagination had led her before 
a sorrow for which she found no words, and Nora, too, was 
silent. Profoundly embittered and disappointed, she stood 
looking at the still beautiful face of the woman in whose 
sympathy she had had implicit trust. Was, then, everything 
to fail her, even in her home, the home which she had seen 


HOME 


349 


in her exile’s dreams ? Was she to stand alone ? Was there 
no one who would understand her and all that she had 
endured ? 

“When Miles believed that war had broken out he would 
not stay an hour longer,” she said at last, and her voice had 
a defiant note. “He could not bear to be away from his 
own country. Why should I, because I am a woman, feel 
less than he?” 

“Because you are a woman, and because you feel more, 
the greater sacrifice is asked of you,” was the quiet answer. 
“In this life there is always some one who must bring the 
sacrifice, and it is always the one who feels deepest and loves 
'most. That is why it is ordained that women should suffer 
for their children, and often for their husbands. It seems 
at first sight unjust. It is really the greatest compliment 
which God and Nature can pay us.” 

“And I am unworthy of that compliment?” Nora demand- 
ed hotly. 

“You will go back, Nora.” 

“To my husband? Never.” For the first time she spoke 
with real conviction, with an almost despairing conviction. 
“That is impossible. You do not know how impossible. 
Even if I would, Wolff would not take me back. He said 
so himself. I had to choose once for all, and I have chosen. 
And, besides, there are the others — the people I know ; stiff, 
straitlaced people who would never understand and never 
forgive.” 

“Nevertheless, when the war is over you will go back,” 
Mrs. Ingestre persisted steadily. “You will go back and 
bravely take up the work which lies before you — the work of 
reconciliation. You will fight the unhappy influence of the 
narrow-hearted fools and braggarts who have helped to 
bring catastrophe in your life and upon whole nations. You 


350 


DIVIDING WATERS 


will retain your independence, your strength, your character ; 
but in opening your heart to the goodness and strength in 
others you will bind them to you as no weak surrender could 
ever have done ; you will win a greater, nobler victory than 
any victory won with the blood of men; you will build a 
bridge between Wolff’s heart and yours ; you will help build 
the bridge between the country of your birth and the coun- 
try of your adoption!” 

Her voice rang triumphant, prophetic. For one brief 
moment Mrs. Ingestre, dying though she was, called back 
her lost youth and rose to the heights of youth’s hope and 
faith. 

Nora took a deep breath. 

“What can I do — a woman against thousands?” she de- 
manded. 

“Your best — your duty.” 

“I have tried, and I have failed. I have no power to 
build the bridge — ” 

Her mother’s eyes rested on her face, and in their depths 
there was a serene confidence. 

“God has given you the power,” she said gently. “God 
has given you an instrument which can not fail you. My 
Nora” — her voice failed her an instant — “ ‘a little child 
shall lead them’ ” — she finished from afar off. 

Nora covered her face with her hands. 

“It is too late,” she said huskily. “Not even that can 
help me now.” 

Her mother made no answer. She lay still with closed 
eyes, and a peaceful smile smoothed away the lines of pain 
from the sweet mouth. She was so quiet and the smile was 
so unchanging, so full of an almost unearthly wisdom, that 
every protest died in Nora’s heart. She crept nearer to the 
bedside, awe-struck and afraid, as though already the cur- 


HOME 


351 


tain had fallen which was to divide them in the future life. 

“Mother !” she whispered faintly. 

The serene eyes opened, the smile became infinitely 
tender. 

“My little girl — leave me now. I am so tired, so weary. 
I shall be glad to sleep. Remember what I said. Kiss me.” 

Nora obeyed. For one instant she lay like a child in the 
feeble arms, overwhelmed by a frightful forewarning of a 
pain she was yet to know in all its intensity. 

“Good night, my darling,” Mrs. Ingestre whispered. 

Nora crept softly away. She thought that her mother had 
spoken from amidst her dreams and had forgotten that it 
was still daylight. Yet the tender farewell haunted her as 
she went down-stairs, and it haunted her long afterward 
when the speaker’s face was obscured in the shadows of 
memory. 

She found her father in the old familiar dining-room, 
waiting for her. The months had made his shoulders more 
stooping, his manner feebler, more helpless. He looked so 
really wretched that she forgot her own grief and put her 
arms about him and kissed him. 

“What is she doing?” he whispered, as though they stood 
in the invalid’s room. “Is she asleep ?” 

Nora nodded. 

“Yes; I think so. Our talking made her very tired.” 

A groan escaped from the man’s quivering lips. 

“The doctor said we must be prepared any moment for 
the worst,” he said. “It is awful — I can scarcely bring my- 
self to believe that it is God’s will. How can I live without 
her?” 

“We must help each other. And we must make the last 
days happy.” 

“Yes, yes; we must try,” he agreed, beginning to pace 


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restlessly backward and forward. “We must make her 
happy. Nora — ” He stopped and looked piteously at her 
over his spectacles. “Nora, you think she was happy?” 

“Happy?” she echoed. Somehow, the thought of her 
mother’s happiness had scarcely ever occurred to her. 

“I mean — I have been thinking, since I knew that we were 
to lose her, that she would have been happier in another 
sort of life— that I did not think enough about her; I was 
always so busy with the poor and the parish. It is perhaps 
foolish of me. A man of sensitive conscience is liable to 
unreasonable remorse. I should be glad — I should be easier 
in my mind if you gave me your opinion.” 

“Mother never complained,” Nora said slowly. 

He nodded, as though her words had confirmed his pro- 
tests against his own self-reproach. 

“No; she never complained,” he said, with a sigh of satis- 
faction. For a moment he was silent, then he turned to her 
again. “I can not tell you how glad I am that you are here,” 
he went on. “Weeks ago, when your mother became so ill, 
I wanted to send for you both — you and Miles — but she 
would not let me. Miles worried her, and she did not want 
your first months of married life overshadowed. Those 
were her very words. It seems almost providential that this 
war should have brought you home in time.” 

“What news is there?” she asked quickly. “Is it really 
declared at last?” 

“Surely, surely!” he father said. “The rumor was only 
a little in advance. It must come to war; there is no pos- 
sible alternative. We have gone too far to draw back. But 
there is the squire, and Miles with him. Probably they are 
bringing the news.” 

He went to the French window and threw it open, so that 
the new-comers could come in straight from the garden. 


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353 


Nora hung back, though her pulses were beating with excite- 
ment. The news that the declaration had been a false alarm, 
picked up with a reckless haste by Miles — perhaps for his 
own reasons — had not shaken her from her purpose. Arnold 
had assured her that it was only a question of hours before 
the rumor became truth, and she had believed him. But 
there had been a strange delay, a strange hush; there had 
been talk of “negotiations,” and it had made her afraid. 
She did not know of what she was afraid — whether it was 
of war or of peace. She only knew that the uncertainty 
was unbearable. As she saw the squire, she knew that one 
way or the other, the die was cast. Fury and indignation 
were written on every feature of the big-clean-shaven face; 
the small eyes, sunken under the bushy brows, glistened like 
two dangerous points of fire; the lips were compressed till 
they were almost colorless. 

For a moment he stood in the narrow doorway, his huge 
shoulders spreading from side to side, glaring into the room 
as though he sought his deadliest enemy. Then, as he saw 
the unspoken question with which the occupants greeted 
him, he nodded and, entering, flung his riding-crop on to 
the table with a loud, ringing curse. 

The Rev. John glanced anxiously at the ceiling, as 
though he thought his wife might have heard, and the 
squire, catching the movement, hastened to apologize. 

“ ’Pon my word, I didn’t mean to make such an infernal 
row,” he said. “If I hadn’t done something of the sort I 
should have had a fit. It’s enough to send a man down into 
his grave with disgust. It’s enough to make a man shake the 
dust off his boots and — and — ” He stopped, stuttering with 
passion, and the Rev. John turned involuntarily to Miles, 
who had followed the squire into the room and was stand- 
ing with his hands in his pockets, gazing sulkily at the floor. 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


“We’ve thrown up the sponge,” he said, as though he knew 
he had been appealed to. “We’ve eaten humble pie, and the 
war’s off. That’s all.” 

“Yes, that’s all !” the squire burst out. “An English 
Fashoda — that’s all! We’re the laughing-stock of Europe 
with our threats and demands, and then this damned sur- 
render. They call it a compromise. It’s not what I call it. 
We’ve just licked their dirty boots — and I’d like to see every 
man-jack of the government hanged and quartered!” 

He was almost unintelligible in his fury, and the Rev. 
John made a mild gesture of protest. 

“As a man of peace, I must rejoice,” he said. 

“As an Englishman, I curse!” the squire retorted, shak- 
ing his fist in the air. “It was a cowardly thing to do. We 
were ready and waiting for war. Every man of us had put 
his best foot forward. All my young fellows were learning 
to shoot and ride — I spent a small fortune on ’em ; and now, 
what’s the good? Their time and my money thrown clean 
away, and the humiliation of it all into the bargain ! And 
to think we might have thrashed those confounded ruffians 
and settled them once and for all !” 

He paced up and down, grinding his teeth, and Nora’s 
eyes followed him with a critical wonder. By a swift turn 
of the imagination, she was again in that huge crowd, watch- 
ing company after company of trained men as they tramped 
past in stern, resolute silence. Was it possible that this 
great blundering squire could talk of thrashing that mighty 
force with men who were learning to shoot and ride? Was 
it possible that she had ever thought as he thought ? 

He stopped in front of her, with his legs apart, and fixed 
her with a fierce, choleric stare. 

“Come now, Miss Nora,” he said, “you have been out 
there and know the blackguards. You must have hated ’em 


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355 


pretty well to have thrown up everything and come home?” 

Something like an electric shock passed through Nora’s 
body. 

“I — hate them?” she stammered. 

“Yes; Miles has been telling me the whole story. No 
offense meant, of course ; but between such old friends as 
you and I, it was a damned mistake to have married that 
foreign fellow. I always said so, didn’t I, Parson?” 

The Rev. John sighed resignedly. 

“I said so myself,” he answered; “but they were so de- 
termined that I could do nothing. It was a terrible blow 
to me.” 

“It made me sick when I was there,” Miles interposed 
viciously, “to think that I had to be civil to those boors 
because my sister had married one of them. I tell you, I 
blessed the war. It gave one the chance to pay back.” 

“You ! What could you have done?” 

The question came from Nora, and her voice sounded 
curiously unsteady. 

Miles nodded. 

“I could have done a lot more than you think, my dear 
sister,” he said pointedly. “I could have put more than 
one spoke in your fine baron’s wheel if I had chosen. And 
glad I should have been to have done it — swaggering bully 
that he was!” 

“Miles — you forget — you are speaking of my husband !” 

She was leaning a little forward. Her cheeks were hot 
and her eyes alight with a passion which should have warned 
him. But Miles merely laughed. 

“Your husband? My dear girl, I expect he has divorced 
you by now as a runaway and I don’t know what else 
besides. They are pretty summary with that sort of thing 
in the Fatherland. Imagine” — he turned to the squire-— 


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“they treat their wcmen-folk like underpaid servants. The 
fine gentlemen go about in their many-colored coats, and the 
wives can patch together what they can on nothing a year. 
Poor wretches !” 

“They don’t mind,” Nora put in sharply. 

“It wouldn’t make much difference if they did. And you 
needen’t take up the cudgels like that! You grumbled 
enough that time Wolff said you couldn’t have a new dress 
for the Hulsons’ bail !” 

“He gave it me,” she retorted, in the same tone of re- 
pressed irritation. 

“Yes; after you had worried enough! But I doubt very 
much if you would have got it if I hadn’t been there to 
back you up. And the insolence of those fellows ! He as 
good as called Arnold and me a pack of cowards because 
we wouldn’t have anything to do with their idiotic dueling. 
As though we didn’t know what a farce it all was ! Whew ! 
I am glad we are both well out of it, and I wish to good- 
ness we could have given them a lesson they would not have 
forgotten in a hurry.” 

“A bully is always a coward,” the Rev. John said senten- 
tiously. “I have always heard those Prussians were terrible 
bullies.” 

“I should think they are!” Miles agreed. “To hear my 
dear brother-in-law talk, one would have supposed that I 
was a raw recruit, or some inferior beast. I held my tongue 
for Nora’s sake, but I tell you, there were moments — ” He 
clenched his fist significantly, and Nora broke into a short 
angry laugh. 

“You were always a model of diplomacy, Miles,” she said. 
Her tone was contemptuous, but her brother chose to take 
her words literally, and the other two were too absorbed to 
notice her. 


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357 


“And that,” said the squire furiously, “is the people we 
have kowtowed to — a lot of swaggering braggarts who don’t 
know what to do with themselves for conceit. This comes 
of all our rubbishy peace-loving notions! The world only 
gives us credit for being afraid !” 

He went on explosively tirading, but Nora no longer lis- 
tened. She was thinking of her mother’s words and wonder- 
ing if these then were the narrow-hearted fools and 
braggarts against whom she was to struggle. And in that 
moment the struggle began in her own heart. She went to 
the window and tried to shut her ears against all that was 
going on about her. She tried to understand herself and the 
strange, conflicting emotions which had come to life in the 
last few minutes. Everything that the squire and her brother 
had said goaded her to a hot retort. She felt herself quiver- 
ing with indignation — because they were abusing a people 
she hated, the man whom she had deserted because she no 
longer loved him ! She 'wanted to ratify every word they 
said ; she told herself that she had the right to do so, that it 
was all true; and yet her whole spirit rose in arms against 
their attack. What was worse, she felt a vague antipathy 
for these three men. She thought the squire coarse and arro- 
gant; his entry and his greeting to her had been rough and 
without the respect to which she was accustomed. And why 
could Miles do nothing without his hands in his pockets? 
Why, when he sat down, had he to be either nursing his 
leg or “slouching”? Why was her father so weak and 
fussy-looking? And then, to her horror, Wolff stood before 
her eyes. Was it a feeling of pride which crept over her, 
pride in his upright bearing and dignity? He had never 
been rough or rude to her. His courtesy to her and all 
women had been unvarying. She turned quickly away, 
trying to stop her own thoughts. The squire was standing 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


in his favorite attitude, with his legs wide apart, still trad- 
ing impartially against the German people and the English 
government who refused to wipe them off the face of the 
earth. Miles had collapsed into the most comfortable arm- 
chair, his head thrown back, his hands plunged deep in 
his pockets. The Rev. John stood between them, a pic- 
ture of helpless dejection. It seemed to Nora that they 
had each taken up the attitude in which she hated them 
most. Hated! It was the word her thoughts had uttered. 
It could not be recalled. If she hated them — why, then, 
she had lost everything; her husband, her people, her own 
nationality! Why, then, she was nothing, she belonged to 
no one, no link of love bound her to any living being. Only 
her mother was left — her mother and that one other being, 
the knowledge of whose existence had come too late to 
save her. 

In the same moment . that her full misery broke upon 
Nora some one tapped at the door and, without awaiting an 
answer, a pale, terrified-looking servant rushed in. 

“If you please, sir,” she stammered, “will you come at 
once? The mistress is — asleep — and we can not wake her — ” 

The Rev. John uttered a smothered cry, and without a 
word to his guest hurried from the room. Miles followed 
him. But Nora remained quietly by the window and took 
no notice of the squire as, with an awkwardly expressed 
hope that “it would be all right,” he left her to herself. 

She knew what had happened. Her mother had bidden 
her good night, and night had come. She was alone — in 
the whole world alone and friendless. 


CHAPTER II 


EXILED 

T HERE is only one sorrow in life which is really great, 
and that is the loss of those we love. The other 
sorrows seem great so long as we have been spared the 
hardest blow which life can deal us, and then we understand 
that, after all, they were very petty and that if we had 
chosen we could have borne them patiently, even cheerfully. 
Loss of health, loss of wealth, loss of position — they are all 
bad in their way, and as a rule we make the worst we can of 
them ; but not till we have to bear them alone , without the 
support of some familiar, loving hand, have we the right 
to cry out that we can endure no more. 

And for the first time in her life Nora knew loneliness 
— not the loneliness which she had felt in her husband’s 
home and among her husband’s people, for that had been 
temporary, a state which could, if necessary, be overcome 
by a return to those whom she had left of her own free- 
will and whose love and sympathy she could still claim. 
This loneliness was final, unabridgeable. Death had raised 
up a wall between her and all return. The one being whose 
hand could have comforted her, in whose arms she could 
have found peace and rest, had passed beyond recall, and it 
was in vain that, in a childish agony of grief, she flung her- 
self down by her mother’s sofa and pleaded with the dead 
not to leave her comfortless. There was no answer. The 
patient, noble woman who had lain there day after day 

359 


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without complaint, watching the slow, painful fulfillment 
of her destiny, had gone and would come no more. She 
had gained her freedom. Even in her own stormy sorrow 
Nora realized so much — that her mother was free and that 
her life had been a long, bitter imprisonment, to which it 
would have been cruel to recall her. She had gone willingly, 
passing out of a sphere in which she had always been an 
exile, and taking with her the last — perhaps the only link 
which had ever bound Nora to her home. In those hours 
when Nora had hated the stuffy little flat and had longed 
for the scent of the home flowers, it had always been of her 
mother’s garden which she had thought ; when she had seen 
the picture of the vicarage rise before her eyes it had always 
been her mother’s room which had stood out clearest, which 
had tempted her by the tenderest recollections. And now 
that her mother had gone, that home had ceased to be her 
home. The flowers were dead in the garden, the rooms 
empty of the old haunting charm, the glamour which her 
exile’s memory had cast about her old life became dull and 
faded. She saw now an ugly red-brick building, with 
dreary, silent rooms, and people with whom she had never 
been in sympathy save in her imagination. This last was 
the bitterest disappointment of all. In her anger against 
Wolff she had expected and believed so much of these “home 
people,” and they had, after all, failed her. 

As she sat alone in the sad, empty room, she felt that those 
five days in England had taken from her not only the 
dearest hope, but the last illusion. Her mother had said, 
“You do not belong here,” and it was true. She was an 
exile in this narrow little world, and between her father 
and herself there was an insurmountable barrier of taste 
and thought. It had always been there, just as, like her 
mother, she had always been an exile, but. in her girlhood’s 


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361 


days it had been less pronounced, less clearly defined. Now 
that she had had experience in another world, she could no 
longer bear the trammels of her father’s conventional prej- 
udices. She had hated and despised her mode of life at 
Wolff’s side; she began to see, though dimly, that it had 
had at least its great moments, that it was at least inspired 
by a great idea worthy of the sacrifices it demanded. Here 
there was no sacrifice and no idea — only vegetation, and 
her companion was not even a useful machine. He was a 
weak muddler, and his world was a little village which 
muddled along in a muddle-loving country and believed 
great things of itself and its institutions. Just as Nora had 
found the squire ridiculous with his two-week soldiers, so 
her father irritated her with his mingled piety, pusillanimity, 
and timid self-satisfaction. Not even their common grief 
had brought them together. They had stood wordless by 
their dead, and when the Rev. John had seemed about to 
speak, she had fled from him, dreading that his words might 
destroy the impression which the serene sleeper had made 
upon her mind. Since then they had hardly spoken, and 
Miles had wandered between them like a sullen, dissatisfied 
ghost. Somehow, he felt that his influence over Nora was 
at an end, that from the moment her feet had touched her 
native soil she had turned from him and his explanations 
with something like repugnance. He did not trouble to seek 
the reason — indeed, she could have given him none; but 
the shadow between them threw Nora back into even deeper 
loneliness. 

And the wonder which had come into her life — the miracle 
which had been revealed to her in her mother’s eyes? She 
only knew that its revelation had come* too late. Though 
all that was best and noblest in her stirred as if beneath 
some divine touch, she felt none of. the exultation, none of. 


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the sanctified happiness, which might have been hers. The 
gift which was to come to her was like a golden link in a 
broken chain, like a jewel without setting — beautiful but 
imperfect. She was an exile and bore the exile’s curse. 

Thus, when the first tempest of grief had passed she faced 
the future with the first fear turned to conviction. She had 
lost everything, even her nationality. Those few months 
had been sufficient to imbue her, without her knowledge, 
with ideas and principles which made her a stranger in her 
own land. She could no longer admire without reservation ; 
at every turn she was forced to compare and criticize with 
the same sharpness as she had compared and criticized in 
her German home, and a word against the people to whom 
she still theoretically belonged was sufficient to arouse the 
same indignation and resentment. Poor Nora! It was a 
bitter self-revelation which she had to face, and the only 
being who could have helped her in this conflict between 
the dual affections had been laid only a few hours before 
in the dreary churchyard whose walls she could distinguish 
through the leafless trees. The sight of those walls and the 
red spire of the church awakened her grief to its first in- 
tensity. She sprang up from her place by the empty sofa 
and hurried out of the room and out of the house. On her 
way she passed her father’s room. The door stood open, 
and she saw him seated by the table, with his face buried in 
his hands. She knew that he was crying, but she shrank 
swiftly away, with the horrible conviction that she despised 
him. She wondered if Wolff had cried when he had re- 
turned and found that she had left him. She felt sure 
that he had gone on working, and the picture which rose 
before her fancy of a strong, broad-shouldered man bent 
over his maps and plans in unswervable devotion caused her 
a strange sensation of relief. 


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It was already late afternoon as she left the village behind 
her. She had no definite goal save the one to be alone, and 
beyond the range of prying, curious eyes, and almost un- 
consciously she chose the path over the fields where, months 
before, she had gone to meet Robert Arnold. Then it had 
been late summer, and it was now winter, but so vividly did 
the scene recur to her that when a tall, well-known figure 
strode out of the mists toward her, she could have believed 
that all the preceding months, with their condensed history 
of bewildering change, had been no more than an hallucina- 
tion and that she was once more N ora Ingestre, setting out to 
learn the mysteries of her own heart. But the next instant 
her hand was taken, and she was looking into a familiar 
face which was yet so altered that she would have known 
alone from its lines of care and grief that time had moved 
on, bringing with him his inevitable burden. 

“Robert !” she cried. She saw his look of pain, and won- 
dered at it. She did not know that he, too, had drawn the 
same comparison between then and now, and had been 
shocked by the change in the face which so short a time 
ago had been that of a girl — nay, almost of a child. 

“Poor little Nora!” he said under his breath. “Poor 
little Nora!” 

She lifted her hand as though to stop all words of com- 
miseration, and he turned quietly and walked at her side. 
He understood that he was helpless, that he could do 
nothing to comfort her in her grief, and yet he felt, too, 
that she was glad of his presence and silent sympathy. 

All at once she herself broke the silence, and her voice, 
save that it was intensely weary, sounded untroubled and 
calm. 

“I did not know you were here,” she said. “I thought 
you were with your regiment.” 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


“I have my Christmas leave,” he answered. “They have 
no special need of me.” 

There was a bitterness in his tone and words which she 
understood. She looked at him, and saw that he was frown- 
ing as though at some painful reflection. 

“There will be no fighting?” she asked. 

“No, none. We have given in. I suppose” — he controlled 
his voice with an effort — “I suppose we had to.” 

“Had to?” she echoed. 

“We were not ready,” he said between his teeth. “Nothing 
was ready. I could never have believed it was possible 
had I not seen it with my own eyes. If there had been war, 
it would have been a repetition of eighteen seventy, with 
London for a Sedan, and they knew it. No horses, reduced 
regiments, a crowd of half-trained men pitted against a 
nation which has been ready for war any day in the last 
years ! The thing is obvious.” 

“You were so sure,” she said. “Everybody was so sure.” 

“No one knew until the test came,” he answered. “The 
outside of things was well enough, and there were plenty 
of able statesmen and generals to tell us that we had never 
been better prepared. We like listening to that sort of talk, 
and we like believing it. A belief like that is so comfort- 
ing. It frees us from all sacrifice — all duty. ‘When the 
call comes, we shall answer to it,’ is our patriotic motto. ‘An 
Englishman is worth three foreigners.’ And then, when 
the call comes, a handful of half-trained youths who can 
not stand a day’s march, who can scarcely ride, scarcely 
shoot, is all that we have to show for our boasting.” He 
clenched his fist with a movement of angry despair. “It’s 
all wrong, Nora, all wrong! We have grown too easy- 
going, too fond of our smooth comfort. Even if we knew 


EXILED 


365 


that our national existence were threatened, we should not 
rouse ourselves. We should vote for a few more Dread- 
noughts and make a great outcry and bang the party drum 
with talk. We think, because we have the money, that 
things can’t go far wrong — we have won before, so we 
think there is a kind of lucky star to save us, however little 
we have deserved success. We can’t see that the world has 
changed, that we have to face a race that has all our virtues 
in their youth and strength — all our tenacity, all our bull- 
dog purpose, all our old stoicism ; and we — God knows ! We 
never forget our grand heritage; we never forget our fore- 
fathers nor the glory they won for us. But we forget to 
honor them with our own worthiness. How will it all end?” 

“Whether it be in peace or in war, surely only the fittest 
can win,” she said thoughtful^. “It will not be the richest, 
or the best-armed nation, but the best, the worthiest. Pray 
God we may prove ourselves to be that nation !” 

“Pray God !” he echoed thoughtfully. 

For a minute they walked on in the gathering mist with- 
out speaking. Both were plunged in sad reflection, but in 
Nora’s heart there had dawned a new relief, a new peace. 
Arnold had spoken without arrogance, with a proud humility, 
with a respect and admiration for those whom he had hither- 
to despised. She did not know what had brought about the 
change, but it comforted her, it brought her nearer to him ; 
in some strange way it revived all her old love for England 
and her people. The squire’s swaggering, her brother’s 
calumnies had maddened her. She discovered dignity and 
candor in Arnold’s words, and her aching heart filled with 
gratitude. 

Suddenly he stopped short and faced her. She saw then 
that a new thought had arisen in his mind. 


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“Nora, have you heard from your husband?” he de- 
manded. 

She shook her head and went on walking quickly, almost 
nervously. 

“No.” 

“Are you going to return to him — soon?” 

“You know it is impossible that I should ever return,” 
she answered. “In his eyes, at least, I have no excuse for 
what I did — none. He would never forgive me.” 

“Not if he loved you?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“Even if he did — even if he forgave me, I could not 
return. I left him because I had ceased to love him, be- 
cause the distance that separated us was too great. I did not 
understand his way of life, nor he mine. He said things 
I shall never forgive.” 

“Not even if you loved him?” 

“I do not love him!” she returned passionately. “He 
forfeited my love. He did not care enough to fight for it. 
How should I grow to love him again?” 

Arnold drove his stick into the soft turf. His face was 
white and deeply troubled. 

“I feel as though I had done you a great wrong, Nora,” 
he said. “I did you a wrong already in the beginning when 
I tried to force my love upon your inexperience — when I 
tried to bind you to me without having really won you. I 
failed, and I was justly punished. But I wronged you still 
more when I sought you out and offered you my friendship. 

I deceived you and I deceived myself. It was not friendship, 
and people were right to give it another name and to look" 
askance at my part in your life. Nora, it is my one excuse 
that I did not know. I believed absolutely in my own 
loyalty, until that night of the ball. Then for the first 


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367 


time I knew that I was dangerous, and whether I had been 
recalled or not, I should have gone away. But fate was too 
strong for me. If I had really been your friend, I should 
not have taken you with me that night. It was a mad thing 
to have done. But everything happened so quickly that I 
lost my self-control, my reason. Now I feel as though I 
had put an insurmountable barrier between you and your 
husband and had ruined your happiness — perhaps your 
life.” 

She had listened to him in unbroken silence, her brows 
puckered into painful ominous lines. 

“You say you are not my friend?” she said. “What are 
you then?” 

“One who loves you,” he answered, “and one who has 
never really ceased to long for you as his own.” 

“And you talked of friendship?” she cried. 

“God forgive me. Nora, a man does not know his own 
heart until the moment comes when he is put to the test as 
I was. I believed it possible that I could care for you in 
that way. I should have known better.” 

“I also should have known better,” she said. 

“No ; you were so young. You could not have known what 
a man is capable and incapable of performing. The blame 
is all mine. And if I have helped to bring sorrow into your 
life, my punishment will be more that I can bear.” 

So much genuine grief and remorse revealed itself in his 
shaken voice that she laid her hand pityingly on his arm. 

“Don’t talk as though it were alone your fault,” she said. 
“It was mine as well. If I could not have judged your 
heart, I could have judged my own.” 

“Nora!” he exclaimed, horror-stricken. 

“I did not love you,” she went on, almost to herself, 
“and I do not love you. I do not believe that I love any 


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DIVIDING WATERS 


one on earth ; but I always knew that I might grow to love 
you. And — perhaps I have something of my father in me 
— I should not have run so great a risk.” 

“Nora!” he repeated, and beneath the horror there rang a 
painful joy. 

She stopped and looked him sternly in the face. 

“Do not misunderstand me, Robert. I did not love you. 
Then I loved my husband, and I do not believe you really 
came between us. There were other things, and you were 
only the instrument that helped me to escape from a life 
that was driving me mad. But, because of all that had 
been between us and that which might so easily have been, 
I ought never to have allowed you a place in my life. It 
was wrong, and the punishment is just this — that now our 
friendship is an impossibility.” 

He walked on as though he could not bear to listen to her. 

“I know, I know !” he said, impatient w r ith pain. “I know 
it is true. I feel no friendship for you — only an immense 
love which has not learned to be selfless. But it will come ; it 
shall come. I swear it. And when it comes — will you never 
be able to trust me?” 

“I don’t know,” she said listlessly. 

“Do not punish me because I have been honest and con- 
fessed what I might have kept hidden.” 

“I should have known sooner or later,” she answered. 

They had taken the village path, and already the spire of 
the church rising above the clustering houses warned them 
that their moments together were numbered. As though by 
mutual consent, they stopped and stood silent, avoiding each 
other’s eyes. 

“I want you to know one thing,” he said at last. “What- 
ever happens, I shall love you all my life, and that if you 
need me I shall prove worthy of your trust. Promise me 


EXILED 


369 


you will turn to me as you would to a friend. Don’t take 
that hope from me !” 

“How can I take hope from any one?” she answered; “I 
who have no hope — ” 

She broke off, and he took her hand and forced her to 
look at him. 

“Oh, Nora!” he cried despairingly. “You are so young, 
and you speak as though your heart were broken !” 

“I do not know whether it is broken-hearted to feel noth- 
ing,” she said. “If so, then I am broken-hearted.” 

“Nora, I believe you love your husband in spite of all you 
say. You must go back to him. Where there is love there 
must be forgiveness. You will forgive each other. You will 
put aside misunderstandings and foolish prejudices, and start 
afresh.” 

He spoke with a painful enthusiasm like that of a man 
who is willing to trample on his own happiness; but Nora 
shook her head. 

“No one understands how impossible it is,” she said. “If 
there were nothing else to separate us, there would be the 
bitterness and hatred between our countries. It sounds ter- 
rible — absurd; but that is the truth. It was that hatred 
which poisoned our life together, and if I could go back 
it would poison our whole future. Oh — ” she made a little 
passionate gesture of protest. “Why are we so mean and 
petty? Why can not we watch the rise of another nation 
without hatred and jealousy? Why can not we be generous 
and watch with sympathy and hope her progress along the 
path which we have trodden? Why can not we go forward 
shoulder to shoulder with her, learning and teaching, fear- 
ing no one? If we are worthy of our great place in the 
world, we shall keep it, no matter how strong others may 
grow ; if we are unworthy, nothing will save us from down- 


370 


DIVIDING WATERS 


fall — not all our ships and wealth. It seems so obvious, 
and yet — ” Her momentary outburst died down to the old 
, listlessness. “I talk like that because I have suffered it so 
in my life,” she said ; “but it is all talk. At the bottom, the 
[antagonism is still there. Nothing will ever bridge it over.” 
She held out her hand with a wan smile. “Good-by, 
Robert.” 

“Good-by; and God bless you, dear!” 

He watched her move slowly homeward. He suffered 
intensely because he knew that her pain was greater than 
l his. He knew that the antagonism she had spoken of sur- 
rounded her whole life, and that she stood alone, without 
husband, without people, and without country. 


CHAPTER III 


REVELATION 

M ILES INGESTRE met his sister in the hall, and 
without a word drew her into the sitting-room and 
closed the door. His action had been so sudden, his grip 
upon her arm so fierce, that she stood looking at him, too 
startled to protest'. In the half-darkness she could only see 
that he was very pale and that he vainly strove to control 
the nervous twitching of his lips. 

“What is it?” she asked. “Has anything happened?” 
“Some one has come,” he said breathlessly. 

She did not answer. A black veil had fallen before her 
eyes, and an emotion to which she could give no name, but 
which was so powerful that she stretched out a groping hand 
for support, clutched at her throat and stifled her. She did 
not ask who had come. She knew by the very change in 
herself, by the violent shock which seemed to waken her 
stunned senses to a renewed and terrible capacity for suffer- 
ing. 

“Wolff — my husband!” she stammered. “Where is he?” 
“It is not Wolff,” Miles retorted rapidly. “It is that 
Hildegarde von Arnim. She arrived half an hour ago, and 
says she must see you at once. She won’t speak to either 
of us.” 

“Hildegarde? You must be dreaming! She is too ill to 
move.” 

“She looks ill, but she can move all right. At any rate, 
she seems to have come a long way to find you.” 

371 


372 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I must go to her,” Nora said dully. “Where is she? 
Why don’t you let me pass?” 

“Look here, Nora.” He took her hand again, and his 
tone became half cajoling, half threatening. “I can guess 
what she has come about. She wants to get you back and 
put you against me — against us all. She will tell you all 
sorts of lies. But you won’t believe her, and you’ll stick 
to us this time? Swear, Nora!” 

She tried to shake herself free. 

“Why should I swear? You know I shan’t go back — 
I couldn’t; and she would be the last person to want it. 
She has come about something else; perhaps about the — ” 
She stopped with a quick breath of pain, “Let me go, 
Miles !” 

“All right. But you’ll stand by me, Nora? And you 
won’t believe her lies?” 

“I don’t know what you mean. What are you afraid of?” 

“Nothing; only I know they’ll do anything to — to put 
us in the wrong. They hate us like the devil. I — I wanted 
to warn you, that’s all.” 

Nora did not understand him. His manner, over-excited 
as it was, frightened her even more than this strangest of 
all strange visits. What miracle had brought the feeble 
invalid over the sea to seek her — what miracle or what 
catastrophe? And as she entered the drawing-room and saw 
the beautiful, exhausted face and stern, unsmiling eyes 
which had once been all love and tenderness for her, the 
fear grew to something definite, so that she stopped short, 
hesitating, overwhelmed by that and by a sudden shame. 

But of shame Hildegarde von Arnim saw no sign. She 
saw defiance in that waiting attitude, and not even the 
pathos of the black dress and pale, sad face could touch her. 
She rose, but gave no sign of greeting. 


REVELATION 


373 


“My mother sent me to you,” she said. “I am to tell you 
that' your — that Wolff is dying.” 

She seemed to take a cruel delight in the change which 
came over the other’s face. 

“Dying,” she repeated deliberately. “Dying.” 

Nora clasped her hands in an agonized movement of 
appeal. 

“I know — I have heard you. For pity’s sake, fell me — ” 

“You need not be afraid. I shall tell you everything, to 
the last detail.” Hildegarde seated herself again. Her 
clenched hand rested on the table and her eyes fixed them- 
selves on her companion with a detestation almost violenf 
in its intensity. “It is over a year since you became en- 
gaged to my cousin,” she went on. “It is not nine months 
since you became his wife. It is not a long time, but if was 
long enough for you to ruin the best, the noblest man whom 
I, at least, have ever met. You see, I declare openly what 
you no doubt know and have triumphed over. I love Wolff, 
and I have loved him all my life. If he had made me his 
wife, I should have deemed myself unworthy of so much 
happiness, and it would have been a joy to sacrifice myself 
for him. No doubt you find such an idea poor and con- 
temptible ; the idea of sacrifice for those one loves is perhaps 
out of fashion in your country. But, be that as it may, it 
was an idea which served you well at the time. Because I 
loved him, and because his happiness was really dearer to 
me than anything alse on earth, I gave him up to you — ” 

“You gave him up to me!” Nora echoed blankly. 

“On the same day that he asked you to be his wife I had 
given him his freedom from a bond which, though it had 
never been openly acknowledged, was still binding on him. 
You did not know that?” 

Nora sank down in the chair by which she had been stand- 


374 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ing. Her strength had left' her; she looked broken, and 
there was something intensely piteous in the clasped hands 
upon her lap. 

“How should I have known?” she asked almost inaudibly. 

“You might have known,” Hildegarde retorted. “You 
knew Wolff. He was a man of honor. He would never 
have yielded even to his love for you until he knew himself 
absolutely free.” 

There was a cutting significance in her tone which could 
not be mistaken. Nora lifted her head and met the scornful 
eyes with despairing resolution. 

“You say that against me, because I was not free,” she 
said. “But you do not know everything ; you have no right to 
judge. My heart was free — my heart belonged to Wolff 
and Wolff only.” 

“You were bound to another man.” 

“By a foolish letter written in a moment of despair. You 
have said that I despise all sacrifice. But that letter was my 
sacrifice to you, Hildegarde.” 

“You must be mad,” was the contemptuous answer. 

“You have not spared me,” Nora went on recklessly. “I 
shall not spare you. That night when you were delirious I 
learned of your whole love for Wolff and all that you suf- 
fered. I also loved him — I also suffered, and I distrusted my 
own strength. I tried to raise a barrier between myself and 
him, so — so that we could never come together. I thought 
if I could say to him T belong to another,’ that I should 
save you from heart-break and myself from a mean, un- 
grateful act. But the barrier was not high enough or strong 
enough to shield me from my own weakness. Believe me or 
not, as you will — that is the truth. In all my life I have 
loved only one man — my husband.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Hildegarde sat stiff and 


REVELATION 


375 


upright, her lips firmly compressed, her expression un- 
changed. But her voice betrayed the rising of a new emotion. 

“I must believe what you have told me,” she said. “In 
that case, what you did was pardonable — even generous. 
But that is not all. That was not what made me hate you. 
I hate you because you have ruined Wolff’s life. For the 
first month or two you made him happy because you were 
happy yourself. Then I suppose you tired of it all — of the 
poverty and the restrictions and the sacrifices. It did not 
satisfy your grand English tastes to go poorly dressed and 
live in small, ill-furnished flats. It was beneath your dignity 
to see to your husband’s dinner ; it did not suit you to sit at 
home alone and wait for him, much less to make his friends 
your friends and join in their life. Though they were honor- 
able, good people, who brought their sacrifices uncomplain- 
ingly, they were beneath you. You despised them because 
they could not afford to live as you considered necessary, be- 
cause they cooked their husbands’ supper and wore old 
clothes so that he might go into the world and represent his 
name and his profession worthily. You hated them — ” 

“Not till they hated me!” Nora broke in, with a move- 
ment of passionate protest. 

“They did not hate you — I know that. They welcomed 
you as a sister and a comrade, until you showed that you 
would have none of them — until they saw that you despised 
their ways and their ideals. Yes; they have ideals, those 
poor dowdy women whom you looked down upon, and their 
first and highest ideal is their Duty. Mark this ! They bore 
with you and your contempt and English arrogance until 
you insulted that ideal. They bore with you as a comrade 
until you proved yourself unworthy of their comradeship, 
until you brought disgrace upon your husband’s name and 
profession with your profligate brother and your lover — ” 


376 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“Hildegarde — how dare you?” 

“I dare because it is the truth.” 

Both women had risen and faced each other. And yet in 
that supreme moment of bitterness, something between them 
— their hatred and distrust — yielded. Accuser and accused 
read in each other’s eyes a misery too great for hatred. 

“I know everything,” Hildegarde went on rapidly. “Wolff 
has not opened his lips, but Seleneck told us. We know 
that Wolff took upon his shoulders the consequences of your 
and your brother’s conduct. He accepted the challenge that 
your brother refused, and he went to his death without a 
word of reproach or anger. And that same night you fled 
with the man whose name the whole world couples with 
yours, and took with you the one thing of value which you 
could steal from your husband — his soldier’s honor.” 

Nora put her hand to her forehead. 

“Please — please tell me what you mean !” she cried pite- 
ously. “I don’t understand — his soldier’s honor?” 

“You know nothing of the papers that were stolen on the 
same night of your flight?” 

“Papers — ?” 

“Mobilization papers — the papers on which Wolff had 
been working. When Seleneck came to see you and tell you 
what had happened, he found that you had gone, and that 
Wolff’s room had been broken into. There was only one 
explanation.” 

“Listen!” Nora leant against the table. She was breath- 
ing in broken gasps that were like sobs, but there was such 
clear resolution in her eyes that Hildegarde waited in stern, 
rigid patience for her to speak. “I will tell you all I can,” 
she said at last, in a low, toneless voice from which she had 
driven every trace of emotion. “I can’t tell you all, because 
I have not the strength — you must just believe me, Hilde- 


REVELATION 


377 


garde, when I say that I loved Wolff and that I was true to 
him — yes, right to the bitter end. You must try and under- 
stand that I suffered. I was English. I couldn’t help 
myself. I was English to the bottom of my heart. I loved 
my country as you love yours, and I could not give it up. 
When the trouble began I was miserable ; everything goaded 
me. Oh, I was all wrong, I know. I let myself be carried 
away by it all. I let myself be influenced. There were the 
Bauers — you won’t understand that, perhaps, but they flat- 
tered me. They offered me friendship where others only 
followed me with their criticism; and when I saw where it 
would all lead it was too late. Miles had fallen into their 
hands. There were terrible debts and money troubles, and I 
dared not tell Wolff. I knew he would send Miles away 
and — and I was afraid of the loneliness.” 

“Of the loneliness !” Hildegarde echoed scornfully. 

“Oh, can’t you understand ? I was a stranger among you. 
I was young and headstrong and had made so many enemies. 
I had no one to turn to — only Miles and Captain Arnold. 
They were English; they understood a little what I felt. 
And I suffered, Hildegarde. It was as though I had been 
infected with some frightful fever which left me no calm, 
which magnified every word and look into a taunt and an 
insult. Once I did fight against it because I did love Wolff 
and because I knew that our whole happiness was at stake. 
But in the end it was too much for me. That night when we 
all thought war had been declared, I could bear it no longer. 
I rushed home. My brother had already gone — ” She 
stopped a moment as though some terrible new thought had 
flashed through her brain, and the last trace of color fled 
from her cheeks. “I followed him. At the station I could 
not find him, but Captain Arnold was there. He took me 
with him — home to my people. I did not go to him in- 


378 


DIVIDING WATERS 


tentionally ; I could not have done so, because I did not 
love him and never had loved him. I went home. That 
is all.” 

“And the papers?” 

They looked each other in the eyes. 

“I think I know. God pity me — that disgrace is indeed 
mine !” 

“No, no, not yours! Nora — ” The old tone of tender- 
ness had crept into the shaken voice. She said no more, and 
they stood silently side by side, overwhelmed with the dis- 
grace that was another’s, but which yet seemed to surround 
them with its ugly shadow. 

It was Nora who at last broke the silence. 

“He must have been mad !” she said, as though she were 
think aloud. “He must have thought that he was serving 
his country.” 

But Hildegarde stopped her with a scornful gesture. 

“He hated Wolff,” she said, “and for the good reason that 
Wolff had helped and befriended him for your sake. He 
paid his debts with money my mother had given him — ” 

“Don’t, Hildegarde! Don’t tell me any more — not now. 
I can not bear it !” 

The agony in her voice silenced the reproach. Hilde- 
garde Arnim turned away, as though she, too, had reached 
the limit of her strength. 

“I am not here to hurt you, but to save Wolff,” she said 
brokenly. “He will not save himself. Ever since he knew 
what had happened he has lain with his eyes closed and will 
say nothing. Only when Captain von Seleneck asked him 
about the papers, he said that he was to be held responsible. 
They will arrest him if they are not brought back in time.” 

“Oh, no, no !” 


REVELATION 


379 


Hildegarde laughed harshly. 

“It will be only a formality,” she said. “They know that 
he is dying, and perhaps they will believe that he is inno- 
cent. But he has taken the responsibility upon himself and 
must bear the punishment. * It was Captain von Seleneck 
who told me to go to you. He has taken Wolff to his house, 
where my mother and his wife are nursing him. Seleneck 
thought you might have pity, and the papers are valueless 
now that there is to be no war. Oh, I know that Wolff is 
suffering! He was so proud of his work and his duty and 
his great trust'. You can not understand all that it means 
to him. Oh, Nora, let him die in peace! Give him back 
his good name — he treasured it so — ” All the hatred and 
cruelty was gone. She held out her hands to Nora in desper- 
ate, almost humble pleading. 

Nora stood rigid, staring in front of her with blank, 
terrible eyes. 

“He is dying!” she said under her breath. “He thinks 
I was so cruel and wicked ! Oh, Wolff !” 

“When he is asleep he calls your name,” Hildegarde went 
on, “and once he was half delirious, and he told me that 
you were not to worry — that he was going to die — he wanted 
to die. And it is true ; he wants to die. He has lost every- 
thing — everything. That is why I have come — to bring 
him back at least his honor. Oh, Nora, help me! Remem- 
ber how he loved you!” She drew a letter from her pocket 
and forced it into Nora’s powerless hands. “He wrote that 
before it all happened ; it was his farewell to you. He is 
dying. Read it ! Surely it will tell you how he loved you ! 
Surely it will make you pitiful! Nora, if I have been un- 
just and cruel — forgive me. Think that I am mad with 
grief — I loved him so — ” 


380 


DIVIDING WATERS 


She broke off. Nora was reading her husband’s letter, 
and a silence as of death seemed to hover in the little room. 

“My beloved Wife,” Wolff had written. “It seems 
strange and foolish that I should sit down and write to you 
when you are in the next room and I could go in to you and 
tell you all that I have in my heart. It seems all the more 
foolish because this letter may never come into your hands. 
Somehow, though, I think that it will, and that, though I 
am a clumsy fellow with my pen, you will understand better 
than if I spoke to you now. Now there is a terrible sea be- 
tween us which neither of us can cross. You are bitter and 
angry with me because I am a soldier and must do my duty 
even if it is against the one I love most on earth. I am sad 
because I have lost my wife. You see, my dearest, I know 
everything. I have known quite a long time, and pitied you 
with all my heart. I pitied because I understood. You were 
too young to know your own heart or to measure the sac- 
rifices which you would have to bring, and it was my fault 
that I did not measure for you and make you understand. 
Well, after it was too late, you found out for yourself, and 
the old love came back into your life, and I lost you. I 
never asked you about that ‘old love.’ I trusted you, and 
I believed that the day would come when you would tell me 
everything. Fate has ordained otherwise. I shall never 
understand anything, save that you did love me, and that 
for a time we were wonderfully happy in our love. Now 
that it is all over, I can still thank you for that time. It 
was worth all that it has cost, and perhaps you, too, will not 
regret it — now that it is over. My beloved wife ! I suppose 
it had to end thus ; there was too much between us. I sup- 
pose — old Streber that I am, with my cut-and-dried ways — 
that I could not fit into your life nor fill it as another might 


REVELATION 


381 


have done, and you could not understand that it was not 
want' of love that made me fail. You could not understand 
that I could love you and yet ask you to sacrifice so much. 
If you had been a German woman you would have under- 
stood better. You would have seen that a soldier must be- 
long to his duty, and that his wife must help him at what- 
ever cost. But you were English, and there was no reason 
why you should have brought sacrifices to a country that 
was not your own. I can understand that ; I always under- 
stood, but I could not help you. 

“There was only one way for me to go, and you had to 
choose whether you would follow me or go back. I wonder 
how you would have chosen? Thank God, you need not be 
put to the test. I could not have borne to see you suffer. 
When you receive this you will know that you are free and 
can go back to your own people and your own country. It 
is that freedom from which I hope more than I would dare 
to hope if I went to you now. You will be able to forgive 
me because it is easy to forgive those who have passed out 
of one’s life for ever. You see, I know that I need forgive- 
ness. In my selfishness I tempted you into a life too full 
of sacrifice and hardship, and I failed you, my darling, some- 
times because I was too miserable to see clearly, sometimes 
because I did not understand, but never because I did not 
love you. Forgive me, then, and perhaps — if you can — let 
a little of the old love revive. It can do no harm, and it 
makes me happy to think that it is possible. 

“Do not try to find out how this has all happened. All 
you need know is that I am to fight a duel to-morrow, and 
that the chances are against me. I know you despise duel- 
ing, but this time it has at least it's use — it will set you free. 

“This is a poor letter, dearest, in which I have said only 
half of all I long to say. If you read in it one word of 


382 


DIVIDING WATERS 


reproach or regret, believe that it is only my clumsy pen 
which has failed me, and that I have nothing in my heart 
but love for you. In all I am to blame, and I am glad that 
it has been spared me to see you suffer. Do not be sad 
over all that has happened ; do not let it cast a shadow over 
your life. You have given a few months’ happiness to a 
man who has never for one instant counted the price too 
high. You made me very happy. Let that be my thanks 
to you. 

“God bless you, my little English wife! In my mind’s 
eye I can see you sitting at your table in the next room, with 
your heart full of bitterness against me ; or perhaps, you are 
thinking of — No, I will not believe that. I would rather 
believe that it is only bitterness, only sorrow because you 
are torn between your country and your husband, and can 
find no peace. The peace is yours now ; and when the time 
comes for you to find your happiness in that old love, re- 
member that I understood and that I blessed you. 

Wolff von Arnim. 

“P. S. — The Selenecks are your friends, and have promised 
to help you. Trust them implicitly.” 

Nora lifted her eyes to Hildegarde’s. The two women 
who a short half-hour before had confronted each other in 
hatred and defiance now met on the common ground of a 
great sorrow. The barriers between them were yielding 
fast, were being swept aside. Their hands met, and that 
touch broke down the last restraint. The next instant they 
were clasped in each other’s arms. 

“I loved him so!” Nora sobbed wildly. “I loved him so 
— and I have made him unhappy. I have killed him ! Oh, 
Hildegarde, why did I come into his life? You would have 


REVELATION 


383 


made him happy. You loved him, and there was nothing 
to divide you. Why did you not keep him? Why did you 
give him back his freedom?” 

“I could not have made him happy, Nora,” Hildegarde 
answered. “I think there are some natures which must 
come together though the world stands between, and even 
if it be to their own ruin. Wolff belongs to you. He will 
belong to you to the very end.” 

Nora lifted her face. She had become sudden 1 }" calm. 
She held herself with the dignity of resolution. 

“And I to him,” she said. “I belong to him and to no 
one else in the world. And whatever separates us, I shall 
find my way back. There must be — there is a bridge across. 
And when I have crossed it I shall atone as no woman ever 
atoned before. I shall blot out the past. Take me with 
you Hildegarde ; take me back to him — now, this hour !” 

Hildegarde kissed her. She could have said that there is 
a “too late” in life, and that that “too late” had come. But 
there was something in Nora’s face — a hope, a confidence, 
a strange look of clarified happiness which held her silent. 
Without a word, Nora turned and left her. She seemed 
guided by a sure instinct, for she went straight to her 
brother’s bedroom. As she entered he was hurriedly cram- 
ming some clothes into a portmanteau, and his white, foolish 
face was blank with fear. 

“Well?” he asked. 

She came toward him, and he knew that no explanation 
was needed. 

“Give me the papers you stole from my husband !” she 
said quietly. “Give them to me at once.” 

A sullen, defiant answer trembled on his lips, but she 
stopped him with a single gesture. 

“I do not ask you to explain or excuse yourself,” she said. 


'384 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I know what you are, Miles, and I should not believe you. 
Nor do I appeal to your better feelings. I appeal to your 
common sense. The papers are useless to you. They might 
only bring you into trouble. Give them to me !” 

He gave them to her without a word of protest. Her will 
paralyzed him ; and only when she had reached the door he 
stammered a single question. 

“Where are you going, Nora?” 

“I am going home — to my husband,” she answered, “and 
I pray with all my heart that I may never see your face 
again !” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE BRIDGE ACROSS 

T HE Selenecks’ little drawing-room was almost in dark- 
ness. Only the pale, flickering reflection from the lights 
in the street beneath fell on the farther wall and threw into 
ghostly prominence the figures of the silent occupants. Frau 
von Seleneck was seated at the table, still bent over a letter 
which she had ceased to write long before the dusk had crept 
in upon them. Her husband knelt beside her, and his hand 
held hers in a strong, tender clasp. 

Thus they had been ever since a hard-drawn sob had told 
him that the letter was no more than a pretense. He had 
seen the tear-stains and the piteous smudges, and he had 
knelt down as though he knew that his closer presence com- 
forted her. Neither had spoken. They seemed to be always 
listening, but the silence remained unbroken. Once, it is 
true, a carriage had rattled along the street and they had 
looked at each other, but it had gone .on, and neither had 
made any observation. 

From where they sat they could see across the road into 
the rooms of the house opposite. They were brightly lit, 
and in one a noble young fir-tree glittered in all the glory of 
tinsel and golden spangles. Husband and wife glanced 
quickly away. It was Christmas Eve. A tiny little shrub 
stood in the corner, unadorned save with the candles and one 
single star. Frau von Seleneck had bought it at the last 
moment, because she could not bring herself to let the great 

385 


386 


DIVIDING WATERS 


evening pass without that time-honored custom, but she had 
cried when she had fixed the star on the topmost branch, 
and since then she had never dared look at it because of the 
tears that rose in spite of every heroic effort. 

Presently the clock upon the mantelpiece began to chime. 
They counted the hurried, cheery little strokes under their 
breath. Seven o’clock. 

“They must be here soon,” she said in a w T hisper. 

“If the train is not late,” he answered, trying to speak in 
a matter-of-fact tone. “They are usually late on Christmas 
Eve.” 

“Yes,” she said. “Plow terrible and long the journey must 
seem to her !” 

“If she cares !” he said bitterly. 

His wife’s hand tightened on his. 

“I think she cares,” she said with an almost awe-struck 
earnestness. “I am nearly _sure. It is not alone that she is 
coming — it is something else. Kurt, haven’t you ever had a 
letter — just an ordinary letter — from some one dear to you, 
and haven’t you had the feeling that it contained a message 
of which the writer had written nothing — as though the 
w T ords had absorbed the look of his eyes, the touch of his 
hand, and were trying to transmit to you all that which he 
had tried to hide behind them? That was how I felt when 
Nora’s telegram came. It was just an ordinary, ugly tele- 
gram, and yet I knew that she cared — that she was sorry.” 

“Pray God he may live to see her !” he answered. 

“Pray God that he may live to be happy with her !” she 
added reverently. 

He shook his head. 

“I don’t pray that,” he said. “I can’t ask impossibilities 
of God. And how should Nora make Wolff happy now? 
She failed before, when her task was easy. What should 


THE BRIDGE ACROSS 


387 


give her the strength to succeed in the face of the distrust 
and hatred which she called to life by her own folly?” 

“I shall help her,” Elsa von Seleneck returned proudly. 
“I shall stand by her for Wolff’s sake and because we were 
once friends. After all, she has atoned — she is coming back. 
That must be the hardest thing of all.” 

‘‘She will need more than your help,” was the grave an- 
swer. 

“Then God will give it her !” 

A tear splashed on to the note-paper, and he pressed her 
hand tighter. 

“Steady, Frauchen !” he whispered. “I hear some one 
moving.” 

They listened breathlessly. A second cab rumbled along 
the street, but this time they did not hear it. Their whole 
attention was concentrated on that neighboring room, where 
life and death kept their silent' vigil, and when suddenly the 
door was softly opened both started as though an icy hand 
had touched them on the shoulder. 

A faint light came through the open doorway, and against 
the pale background Frau von Arnim’s figure stood out in 
all its old noble stateliness. They could not see her face, but 
they felt that it was composed and resolute in its grief. 

“I think they have come,” she said. “I heard a cab out- 
side.” [ 

Somewhere down-stairs a bell rang, and Seleneck rose 
softly to his feet. 

“I will light the lamp,” he said, but his hand shook, and 
his wife took the matches from him. 

“Let me do it, Kurt. I am crying — I can’t help it ; but I 
am quite steady. Gnadige Frau , how is he?” 

“Sleeping,” was the answer. 

Poor Frau von Seleneck was not as good as her word. She 


388 


DIVIDING WATERS 


could not manage the wick, and the glass shade threatened 
to fall from her nervous hands. In the end she lighted the 
little candles on the Christmas tree. 

We can at least see each other,” she apologized humbly. 

Thus it was by this frail yet steady light of hope and hap- 
piness that Nora entered and stood before them. She was 
not alone, and yet, as though of intention, Hildegarde had 
drawn back from her so that she stood apart, looking silently 
from one to the other. No one spoke. They, too, looked at 
her without a gesture of greeting, even of recognition. It 
was as though she were a total stranger, an intruder, an en- 
emy. And yet that haggard young face might have touched 
them. It was almost terrible in its look of suspense and 
agony. 

“Have I come in time?” she whispered. 

Her voice broke the spell. Frau von Arnim nodded. 
Nothing had changed in her expression, but its very calm 
was a reproach and a punishment. 

“He is alive,” she said. 

Nora took a step forward so that she came within the pale 
circle of light. For the first time they saw each other full 
in the eyes. 

“You have brought the papers — the proof that he is inno- 
cent?” Frau von Arnim asked. 

“I have brought everything — more than you know ; and I 
have come to be forgiven.” 

A dead, blank silence. Suddenly she stretched out her 
hands in piteous, reckless appeal. 

“Forgive me. I am guilty, but not so guilty as you think. 
I have been foolish and self-deceived, but not heartless, not 
wicked. Forgive me ! Hildegarde has forgiven me !” 

It was like a broken-hearted child crying in helpless, 


THE BRIDGE ACROSS 


389 


lonely repentance, and with a quick movement Hildegarde 
slipped her arm about the trembling shoulders. 

“You will know everything soon,” she said. “Then you 
will see that we have all been to blame — that we all need to 
pardon and to receive pardon. Forgive now — for Wolff’s 
sake !” 

Something quivered in Frau von Arnim’s frozen face. The 
little woman by the tree was crying openly, and her husband 
turned away as though the light blinded him. 

“Nora,” Frau von Arnim said. 

That was all. Nora took a stumbling step forward; the 
elder woman caught her and held her. They clung to each 
other in a moment’s agony of grief. Years of life would not 
have brought them together nor broken their stubborn pride. 
The hand of death had touched them, and pride and hatred 
vanished. The barriers had yielded and left free the road 
from heart to heart. 

“Forgive!” Nora whispered brokenly. 

Very gently she was drawn toward the closed door. 

“Let us go to him,” Frau von Arnim said. 

It was her forgiveness, and they entered the room together, 
hand clasped in hand. For one instant Nora shrank back 
as she saw the white face on the pillow. Then she loosened 
herself from her companion’s clasp and went forward alone. 
They did not follow her. It was as though at this hour of 
crisis she had claimed her right above them all, as though 
without a word she yet demanded back from them what was 
her own; and they watched her in awed, unbroken silence. 
She took the white, feeble hand upon the coverlet, and 
kissed it. 

“Wolff !” she whispered. “Wolff !” 

No one before had been able to rouse him from that terri- 


390 


DIVIDING WATERS 


ble, death-like slumber. His eyes opened, and he smiled 
peacefully at her. 

“My little wife !” he answered faintly. 

She crept nearer. She put her arm beneath his head so 
that he rested like a child against her breast. 

“I have come back,” she said. “I have brought your pa- 
pers and your honor. You are to be quite, quite happy. I 
will tell you everything — ” 

“Not now,” he interrupted gently; “not now. I have so 
little time.” 

His voice was pitifully thin and broken. It was as though 
the great, powerful body had become inhabited by the soul 
of a child. She drew him closer to her with a movement of 
infinite tenderness. 

“Only one thing — I did not leave you because I did not 
love you — or because of- — any one else. Wolff, you must 
understand that. I was mad — the thought of war and my 
own people made me forget all that you were to me. But 
now I know, and you must know too. You shall not think 
so badly, so wickedly of me.” 

He shook his head. 

“I think nothing bad of you, Nora.” 

“You know I love you?” 

“You have a good, warm heart,” he answered faintly. 
“You are sorry for me — and I thank you. I am glad that I 
am going to set you free.” 

“Wolff!” 

For the first time she understood. He did not believe her, 
and he was dying. The blow was almost annihilating in its 
force and cruelty. Hitherto she had defied Fate; it crushed 
her now beneath its inevitableness, and a cry of agonized 
revolt burst from her lips. 

“Wolff, you must believe me! I can’t begin life again 


THE BRIDGE ACROSS 


391 


without you — I can’t ! You must not leave me — you can not 
leave me lonely !” 

He smiled. 

“Don’t you see that it is for the best, my darling? It was 
not your fault. The sea between is so broad and . strong — ” 
He broke off suddenly, and a curious, unsteady light flick- 
ered into his glazed eyes. “Don’t let her know it is any- 
thing — serious,” he whispered. “She will be frightened — 
and she must not be frightened. She has gone, you say? 
With Arnold? That is a lie. I knew she was going — I sent 
her. Her mother is ill. The papers — ? Oh, my God! my 
God !” 

She clasped him tighter in her arms. The frightful out- 
break of delirium — frightful because of its extraordinary 
yet heart-broken quietness — shook her to the soul. She 
looked about her, and in an instant Hildegarde was at her 
side. 

“Nora is here,” she said. “She will never leave you again. 
She has brought the papers. They are safe — the papers are 
safe.” 

She repeated the words over and over again, as though she 
were striving to break through the cloud in which his mind 
was shrouded. He thrust her from him, dragging himself 
upright in a stiff attitude of salute. 

“Herr General, I am responsible — alone responsible. No 
one else is to blame. The papers? — I can tell you nothing 
but that I am responsible. Tell him, Seleneck! Tell him I 
boasted about them and was careless — anything ! Swear — 
give me your word of honor! I am dying — what does it 
matter? No, no; you are not to send for her. She is to be 
happy — and free — among her own people. You must not 
blame her. It was too hard. We — must forgive each other. 
Oh, Nora, Nora!” 


392 


DIVIDING WATERS 


“I am here, Wolff, my darling, my husband ! I have come 
back — I will atone to you with my whole life. You don’t 
know how I love you — more than people, more than country, 
more than the whole world ! I have learnt just in the last 
hours that there is no one else who matters to me but you, 
and you alone. I will make you happy — so happy, my 
dearest 1” 

In that moment she remembered the power that had been 
given her, and her voice rang with the exultation of victory. 
He heard it, and the painful excitement died out of his eyes. 
The mist of dreams shifted, and he picked up the thread as 
though the short burst, of delirium had never been. 

“Nora, why do you look at me like that? What is it you 
are trying to say to me? There is something new in your 
face. Nora, help me ! I am groping in the dark — ” 

She held him closer to her, and it seemed to her that the 
threatening hand of Fate sank, and that Death drew back as 
from a greater power. 

“I am happy, Wolff — happier than I have ever been. I 
know that our happiness has begun at last.” 

“It is too late — too late, Nora!” 

“Not if you live, my darling. And you will live, because 
you will not leave me comfortless — because there is another 
to come who will need you — ” 

She broke off. He was looking at her as he had once 
looked at her before — as though he were trying to pierce 
down to the uttermost depths of her soul. A look of dawn- 
ing wonder was in his eyes. 

“Nora — is it possible — ?” 

She smiled at him triumphantly through the blinding 
tears. 

“It is possible ; it is true. And even if it were not true, I 
should hold you back alone — with my own hands. I have 


THE BRIDGE ACROSS 


393 


been tbrcmgh fire, Wolff. I have grown strong, and my 
strength is my love for you. Don’t you know that?” 

“Kleine Frau , it is so hard to believe, and yet — yes, I be- 
lieve I know! It has come to me suddenly. It is as though 
a cloud were lifting. Before, you seemed afar off; a great 
distance separated us, and when you spoke I could not hear 
or understand what you were saying to me — what you were 
trying to tell me. Nora, I can hear and understand. Oh, 
N ora, how good it is to have you again, my little wife ! How 
good God is !” 

A change had come over his face. It seemed illuminated 
from within, so that the shadow of death was forgotten, ob- 
literated by the strength of his joy and love. 

“Nora, I believe I have been living for this ! I have been 
like Tristan — do you remember? — fighting back death until 
my Isolde came. I have been waiting and waiting as he 
waited. There was a great sea between us ; but I knew that 
you would come in time. I saw you in my dreams — at first 
a long way off, and then nearer and nearer — Nora! I un- 
derstand everything — you don’t need to tell me: there is a 
bridge between us; you are quite close to me; you have 
crossed — my wife !” 

He tried to lift her hand, as though he would have kissed 
it, but his strength failed him and he lay still, with his head 
resting peacefully against her breast. 

Presently he sighed. And with that sigh something in the 
quiet room seemed to change. The shadows lifted, and 
through the open doorway the single glittering star upon the 
solemn fir-tree shone with a greater brightness. Hildegarde 
knelt down by the bed and buried her face in her hands. The 
sounds of her smothered sobs alone broke the peaceful hush 
about them. But Nora seemed not to hear her. She bent, 
and her lips rested on the quiet, untroubled forehead. A 


394 


DIVIDING WATERS 


great calm and thankfulness had come over her. She knew 
that all was well. 

Love had pronounced the last triumphant word, and the 
sea between them had rolled away for ever. 




















































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